


Dirty Little Secrets

by Sylvans_Mercy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Love Triangles, Non-Inquisitor OC, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rivalry, Sexual Tension, Teasing, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2018-12-03 08:30:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 49,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11528463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylvans_Mercy/pseuds/Sylvans_Mercy
Summary: Skyhold is full of spies, and as an agent of the Inquisition it's her job to outwit them. She just wasn't expecting her commander to be so serious? Thick-skulled? Attractive? It was all fun and games teasing the poor man, but once she started getting a taste of her own medicine, that's when the trouble began... throw in a fiery mage from her past and an unreadable flirt of an Inquisitor, and suddenly war seems like the easy part.





	1. Chapter 1

News of the conclave ending in the death of the Divine had begun to spread across the continent. That alone was enough to shock the people of Thedas, but the rumours that followed had reached a new level of lunacy. An explosion leaving a hole in the sky, and Andraste herself reaching through to place a mortal at the feet of the survivors. An elf, no less, who had supposedly fought the demons back and saved them all.

From the other side of Ferelden, Genevieve Thorne had no way of telling the truth from the fabrication – and information was her trade. The streets of Denerim were rife with rumours and hearsay, and it wasn’t until a letter arrived that she discovered a way to find out for sure.  
  
_My dearest Nieve,_  
  
There is a job. Come and see me.

There was no need for a sign off. The script was elegant and precise, with no hint of the rush it must have been written in. This alone made it unmistakably Leliana’s. She never said more or less than she needed to. And Nieve knew that there was only one place the Divine’s Left Hand could be right now. She began making preparations to leave for Haven. The only problem was breaking it to her closest friend and business partner, Lodrik.  
  
“Sooo, there’s a job,” she said from the doorway, “I’m leaving.”

The dwarf didn’t look up from his notes, continuing scratching away with his quill for so long that Nieve wasn’t sure he’d heard. Eventually he broke the silence, simply asking “You back for dinner?”

“No, Lod,” she took a deep breath, “The job’s in Haven… with the Inquisition.”

 _Probably,_ she thought. She really had no idea what Leliana was going to ask of her.

“Good one, Thorne,” Lodrik let out a snort, smirking down into his work.

No words were needed to tell him she wasn’t kidding. She stood perfectly still, and after a few seconds of silence, he fixed his bright blue eyes on her. She chewed her lip and shrugged, and the smile slipped from his face.

“Maker’s balls, Nieve,” he groaned, “you actually wanna get caught up in that mess?”

“I’ve been asked personally,” she replied, “and that’s gotta pay well. Let alone getting the chance to find out what’s going on. You’ve heard what people are saying.”

“Yeah, I have, and if half of it is true you’re offering your ass up to be a demon’s dinner,” he grumbled, “if you don’t get sucked into the sky first.”

She let out a laugh at that.  
  
“Sucked into the sky, Lod?” she teased, “you’re such a dwarf. Even if only half the rumours are true, don’t you want to know which ones?”

Pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, he let out a sigh.  
  
“By the Stone… the fucking sky rips open and Nieve Thorne just has to go and take a look, huh? Fine. But if that thing is really opening up and throwing demons about, I’m heading straight for Orzammar.”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I do,” she smirked, “but ten coppers says some templar knocked a barrel of incense into a brazier and they're blaming the mages for the bang.”  
  
Lodrick let out a booming laugh.

“Make it 20 and you’re on.”

 

* * *

 

 

As much as she wanted to appear confident and professional as she approached Haven’s gates, Nieve was overcome with wonder at the scene in front of her. The mountains alone were awe-inspiring, but the swirl of green light that dominated the sky was something else. She had always prided herself on her vocabulary and rarely found herself at a loss for words, but the Breach left her in a stunned silence. Even worse, she realised, was that it filled her with fear. It made her want to stop and stare, yet turn and run at the same time.  
  
The last time she had felt that dreadful sense of wonder, the Archdemon Urthemiel was flying over the city of Denerim. Nieve shuddered at the thought and continued toward the gates.

After an enquiry and quick explanation, a soldier led her to an open tent in front of the Chantry where she found Leliana poring over a pile of reports. Alert as always, the Spymaster looked up as Nieve approached. The soldier opened his mouth to speak, but Leliana did not need his introduction.  
  
“Nieve, it’s so lovely to see you!” she smiled, stepping forward with open arms.

Nieve did the same, squeezing her friend tightly as they embraced.

“It’s good to hear your voice again, Sister Leliana,” she replied.

They parted, and almost in unison looked each other up and down. Leliana had retained her good looks, though her delicate features were beginning to show signs of aging. Nieve doubted that the stress of the mage uprising and Divine’s death had done Leliana any favours, but her friend was still a beauty.

“You look well, my dear,” Leliana said, “It’s a wonder you manage to look so pretty after all that time on the road.”

A harmless pleasantry - Nieve knew that she looked a bit rough from the journey, but she took the compliment with a smile.

“And you too, Sister. Purple suits you.” She replied.

Leliana inclined her head slightly, approving the flattery Nieve was offering. Their meetings always started like this, exchanging short, but not insincere compliments to break the ice. No matter how long they had known each other, they always danced around for the first few minutes, reading what they could from each other’s demeanour. Nieve would almost consider it underhanded, if they were not both aware of the ritual they were performing.

“How are things in Denerim?” Leliana asked her, “Your Aunt is well? And how is Lodrik?”

 Nieve couldn’t help smile as she folded her arms and sent the Inquisition’s Spymaster a knowing look.

“You know fair well that my Aunt is in good health, and that Lod is doing just fine.” She laughed before adding “Perhaps your information might be more current than my own on that.”

Leliana let out a small laugh of her own, her shoulders relaxing almost imperceptibly. The game was over, and they were both relieved.

“I suppose you want to know why I sent for you.”

“Suppose I do,” Nieve agreed.

The spymaster gestured for her to follow, and made her way to the Chantry. They walked in silence through the almost empty hall and through the door at the far end, which clicked closed behind them. The room was dominated by a large table in the centre, covered by a map, adorned with tiny flags and wooden markers.

“As you know the Inquisition is growing, in size as well as influence,” Leliana began, leaning against the stone wall, “and we have several important key figures holding it all together. We are gaining new allies, but there are many who would like to see the Inquisition fail.”

Nieve nodded. She had been keeping track of the Inquisitions exploits, though the stories weren’t always reliable, especially those concerning the Herald of Andraste.

“If someone truly wanted to harm the Inquisition, they would need to target certain people in key roles. Basically, Nieve - I need you to help protect someone.”

Nieve raised her eyebrows. She trusted Leliana’s dedication to the Inquisition, but didn’t understand why she had contacted her specifically. Was this a trick? Some sort of clever scheme by the Nightingale? Nieve decided to take the direct approach.  
  
“Forgive me Sister, but I’m not sure I’d make a good body guard… is this truly what you called me here to ask?”

“Oh no, not exactly,” Leliana pushed off from the wall, “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“A hole in the sky will do that,” Nieve sighed.

“It does. The Commander of our forces is a capable one, and can be trusted to deal with any task put in front of him. But as you and I know, enemies are not always in front of you. With the amount of new recruits coming into Haven, there will no doubt be unseen threats. I need someone to see what he cannot.”  
  
Nieve nodded. The Inquisition had piqued a lot of peoples’ interest with their quick rise to power. Thedas surely had a multitude of interested parties wanting to spy on their movements. Knowledge was power – influence to be gained. It was definitely in the Inquisition’s interest to know what was going on under their own roof.

“Why me?” she asked, looking directly into the spymaster’s eyes.

“There are two reasons,” Leliana returned her gaze. “The first is that you have the skills for the job. You are perceptive, and have proven yourself capable in every assignment I’ve given you. Secondly, you would be by the Commander’s side, assisting him in his duties and handling important information regarding the Inquisition. To put it simply – I need someone that I can trust to keep that knowledge confidential.”

While she swelled slightly with pride at the older woman’s words, Nieve knew that Leliana hadn’t actually said that she trusted her – only that she trusted her to keep things to herself. Though her methods were not always entirely moral, Nieve placed value on her word, and never broke a contract. Not that she would cross Sister Nightingale, the Left Hand of the Divine anyway. She also valued her head.

“I have some experience keeping secrets,” Nieve grinned and held out a hand.

“I know you do,” Leliana replied, grasping it and giving a firm shake.

With that, the deal was done. Genevieve Thorne was now an agent of the Inquisition. She had only a short moment to take it in before Leliana began to lead her out of the room.

“I’ll have someone show you to your tent,” she said.

“Tent?” Nieve replied with a gasp of horror. She’d stayed in some ramshackle places, but outside of being on the road she’d never actually lived in a tent.

Leliana let out a small laugh at her friend’s expression. “Haven is a little overcrowded,” she explained, “but as the Commander’s assistant you will at least have one to yourself.”

Yippee, thought Nieve as she followed the Nightingale out into the cold. Once again she stopped and stared at the Breach, wondering if she’d ever get used to living under such a frightening phenomenon. She considered asking Leliana, but the Sister was already ahead in her tent, giving instructions to a man dressed in a pale green uniform.

“My agent will show you the way,” she told Nieve and passed her a sealed roll of parchment, “read this, and report back to me once you’ve stowed your things. Then I’ll introduce you to the Commander.”

“Got it,” Nieve replied. “See you soon.”

She had only taken a single step when Leliana’s voice reached her ears again.

“And Nieve, my dear? The Commander is not going to like this one bit.”


	2. Chapter 2

Her tent was small, but it had enough room for the few possessions she had brought with her. A simple cot ran along one side, with a trunk at base for storage. For now, she dumped her pack on the ground, and rested her bow against the foot of the bed.

Nieve sat down and eagerly broke the seal on parchment she had been given.  The first words read: Cullen Stanton Rutherford – Commander of the Inquisition’s army.  Leliana had put together a dossier on the man, documenting his positions as a Templar in Ferelden and Kirkwall, as well as personality traits, the basic command structure for the army, and a small map of Haven.

She skimmed her eyes over the document, memorising as much as possible before going to meet him. Leliana had been thorough, and Nieve was surprised she hadn’t included his favourite food.

Probably plain boiled potatoes, she thought to herself as she put the paper down. This man sounded incredibly dull, even for a Templar.

Pulling a brush and mirror from her belongings, she intended to fix her appearance in preparation for meeting her new superior. She unpinned her hair, and her auburn locks fell just past her shoulders. She pulled the brush through her wavy  tresses, taking the time to breathe and consider the information in the dossier.

A few of the described traits jumped out as positive signs. Proud. Loyal. Diligent. These were the kind of things she could work with.

As for some of the others… The Commander sounded like a Templar she had known back in Denerim, and old grump who wouldn’t bend the rules for anyone. He had been all but immune to Nieve’s charms – which were _considerable_ – and she had dealt with that by avoiding him at all costs. Unfortunately, she couldn't avoid someone she was working for, and as she always said, she liked a challenge.

Lodrik had always said that she relied too much on her “womanly wiles” anyway – a comment she made him regret for weeks. Nieve had learned early on in life that she was considered beautiful, with her red-tinged hair, full lips, and stormy grey eyes framed by long lashes. It was only when she was forced into the shithole that was post-Blight Denerim did she learn to use it to her own ends. She lined her eyes and applied a touch of blush to her cheeks. She didn’t want to overdo it, but she found that it was always helpful to feel confident. Not so bothered about making an impression on the commander, she was instead thinking about the people around him.

They’re the ones I need to watch, she thought, they’re the ones I need to talk.

Finally satisfied with her appearance, she smiled at her reflection. Giving herself a wink for courage, she left her tent and made her way back to Leliana.

 

* * *

 

Nieve followed Leliana through the snow covered buildings of Haven, keeping her nerves at bay by making mental notes of the village layout.

Tavern. That one’s important, she mused as they continued through the gates. The journey had been long, and she was looking forward to a drink. Besides that, she knew no one in Haven and was keen to meet some of the other mad people living under the Breach.

The view of the frozen lake was breath-taking as it reflected the green hue of the broken sky. Nieve’s stomach churned at the sight. Meeting one man didn’t seem like such a big deal compared to the Breach swallowing the heavens above. She tore her eyes away and focused instead on the rows of soldiers training in unison. Weapons and shields thudded and crashed, and one voice rang out, shouting orders and corrections over it all.

“Watch your feet, recruit! It won’t matter how strong your shield arm is if you lose your balance!”

The voice belonged to a tall man, armoured in red and silver, a rich mantle of feathers covering his shoulders. Templar colours, she thought. Nieve couldn’t see his face, but the way he was dressed and how barked at the recruits made her almost certain that he was the one in charge.

“ _Hit_ him! Demon’s don’t pull punches!”

Well he sounds _delightful_ , Nieve thought to herself. Maybe she’d had the right of him from just Leliana’s notes.

“Commander?” Leliana hailed him as they approached.

He turned to face them, and Nieve got her first real glimpse of Cullen Rutherford. Her stomach twisted for the second time in as many minutes, because he wasn’t what she expected at all. Instead of being a grizzled old grouch, the man standing in front of her was among the most handsome men she had ever seen. She wasn’t one to swoon, but her widened eyes roved over his face. She followed the strong line of his jaw, covered by a rough hint of a beard. He was crowned by waves of blond hair, ruffling in the mountain breeze… she kicked herself, and recovered enough to look casual.

“Cullen, this is the new ‘assistant’ we spoke about” Leliana gestured to Nieve.

The commander turned to Nieve, resting his amber eyes on hers for a few silent moments. Nieve held his gaze and he eventually acknowledged her with a silent nod. She managed a half smile in response. She was about to speak when he turned his head back to Leliana, his eyes following a split second later.

“You spoke. I listened,” he replied sternly, “I don’t remember ever actually agreeing to this.”

Leliana sighed and gestured towards the lake with an incline of her head. The commander caught the attention of one of his soldiers and signalled for him to take over. Within a moment and with no words exchanged, the pair headed away from prying ears. After the smallest of waves from Leliana, Nieve followed a step behind.

Oh great, he’s gorgeous, Nieve’s internal voice grumbled, that makes things… interesting.

Uncertainly pooling in her stomach, she trudged behind the pair as they walked in silence. Once out of ear shot, they stopped by the lake front and turned to face each other.

“Cullen, this is a good idea,” Leliana insisted softly.

“We don’t need to be babysat, Sister,” he replied, folding his arms over his chest.

Well, she said he was proud, Nieve thought, recalling her brief.

“Am I to promote someone else over my own people?” he continued.

Well, Leliana said he was loyal, too.

“It’s not a promotion as such. We need a trained eye on these people coming in,” the Sister pressed.

Nieve didn’t know whether to speak or not. She watched the exchange with interest, hoping she wouldn’t have to turn right around and go back to Denerim.

Lodrik would have a right laugh at that, she mused. Although things had begun to feel a lot more serious under the green sky. She’d have to crawl back home _and_ pay up for their bet. She didn’t know if her pride could take that. Besides, now that she had actually seen the threat, she didn’t know whether she’d be able to just go home. Maybe Leliana could find her some other work to do for the Inquisition.

“I have my own people,” he argued, before lowering his voice “besides that, how am I supposed to trust her if she’s spying on our own people? Is she experienced enough for this? There’s a lot of questions here, Leliana.”

Well she never said he was rude. Didn’t he know she could hear him? She was standing right there!

Nieve bristled at the insult to her competence. She had spent enough time in Denerim’s criminal underworld to know what a threat looked like. She had risked her life enough times to get information that would curl his perfectly tousled hair. She couldn’t stop herself from piping up.

“How could I look more experienced?” she interjected, “Shall I get a tattoo? A big scar across my face to prove it to you?”

The commander turned slowly to face her, revealing something Nieve had missed on first glance – a scar tracing a line from his right cheek down to his lips.

Maker that’s attractive, she thought for a second before she made the link with what she had just said.

Oh no.

Both the commander and Leliana had turned to look at her, comically mirroring each other with a raised eyebrow. With a mental sigh she resolved to keep going.

“I know what I’m doing, sir,” she continued, “I’m smart and I’m observant.”

It seemed a ridiculous claim, as she had failed to spot an obvious feature _right on his face_. She cursed herself for being distracted by his hair, no matter how nice it was.

“She’s right,” Leliana spoke before he could respond, “Cullen, you need an outside perspective. Trust _me_ when I say she can do it.”

Nieve felt a surge of pride. Leliana was fighting for her – her friend must really believe in her skills.

“I honestly don’t think a spy is necessary, but alright, if you insist on it” he huffed, “I’m sure we can find something for her to observe.”

Nieve was taken aback. She was here to _help_ , not to be looked down on.

“In the worst case scenario Cullen – she’s very good at decoding reports,” Leliana smiled. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.”

Leliana set of back to the village, giving Nieve a wry grin as she passed.

“He’ll come around,” she murmured, before trudging off through the snow, leaving Nieve alone with the commander.

He seemed at a loss for words, standing with one hand on his hip, the other rubbing the back of his neck. Silence stretched out almost endlessly before she finally spoke.

“I _am_ good with paperwork,” she joked, trying to shrug off the awkwardness.

“We’ll find something to keep you out of trouble,” he replied, though he seemed lost in thought.

“I tend to like trouble, Commander.”

Maker, Thorne, calm down, she mentally kicked herself.

It was all she could do to keep herself from winking at him. She was forever joking and flirting, but now _really_ wasn’t the time. He didn’t seem the type to appreciate her brand of humour, which made her want to do it all the more.

“If you’re going to be working for me…” he began, and Nieve braced herself for a warning.

“Cullen Rutherford.”

She stared for a second as he held out his hand. He was even attempting a smile, though the effort was clear on his face. She appreciated the effort though, and placing her hand in his, she gave it a firm shake.

“Nieve Thorne.”

He dropped her hand almost immediately and set off back to the village. Nieve was shocked at his sudden departure, but she supposed the commander was a busy man. It was clear he saw her as a problem rather than a solution.

“Report to me tomorrow morning,” he said over his shoulder, “and welcome to the Inquisition.”

Great, her first day and she hated him already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just laying some foundations, it's gonna be a rocky road >.< I'm still trying to find the best way to write these characters, so sorry if things are a little shakey to begin with! Thanks for reading <3


	3. Chapter 3

The first few days working for the Inquisition didn’t run as smoothly as Nieve was hoping. Though he seemed to have accepted her presence at Haven, he had been reluctant to share any of his responsibility. She had been running messages to and fro, which helped her learn her way around and make a few acquaintances. However on this particular day she hadn’t been given any tasks, leaving her with little to do but watch the recruits train. He hadn’t forgotten her completely, it appeared, as she caught a number of glances thrown her way as he paced the training yard.

From her perch on the low stone wall, she had observed a number of interactions between the commander and his troops. Though he was hard on them in a way that seemed cold to Nieve, they treated him with a great deal of respect. Military operations were practically foreign to her, but it became obvious that discipline won over emotion, and efficiency was key.

Not that her own line of work lacked discipline, but she used emotion for influence and leverage, rather than ignoring it altogether. There was an honesty to the way the soldiers operated, and without respect for their superiors and their orders, Nieve imagined it would fall apart.

I don’t envy all the bruises, she thought with wince as a nearby recruit was slammed to the ground by his opponent’s shield.

The shield bearer helped his fellow recruit to his feet, but his attention was focused on shooting Nieve a cocky smirk. Unfortunately for him, he hadn’t noticed the commander appear at his side.

“What was that, recruit?” he asked before following the man’s line of sight.

“Oh, maker. Get back to work!” he barked.

Nieve tensed as she watched the commander striding purposefully towards her. With balled fists and a clenched jaw, she could see the frustration radiating from him as he approached. From her seat on the wall, for once they were on eye level with each other. He collected himself when he stopped in front of her, taking a few moments to find the words.

 “Look, Agent,” he began firmly, his gaze fixated somewhere over her right shoulder.

“I err, didn’t have anything to do with that,” she interrupted, “I’m just sitting here.”

He let a deep breath out through his nose, and Nieve was almost surprised it didn’t come out as smoke.

“There’s some reports on my desk,” he continued, “I was going to get to them later but…”

Nieve’s face lit up. If she’d known getting a recruit all hot and bothered would get her something useful to do, she could have made it happen _much_ earlier. It didn’t bother her that her commander was angry – most things seemed to make him that way. He held up his hands, palms toward her, and continued.

“Read. Decode. Prioritise,” he punctuated every word with a pushing motion, “just be… _away_.”

She leapt down from the wall, landing lightly on the snow right in front of him. A little closer than she had intended, Nieve had to tilt her head right back so she wasn’t speaking to his collarbone. He didn’t take a step back, but his eyebrows raised slightly. Surprise had taken the anger out of his face, and now that she was directly in front of him, he had no choice but to look down at her face.

Maker he’s tall, she thought for a second as his gaze met her own. She paused for a fraction of a second, admiring the golden colour of his eyes before responding.

“Right away, commander!” she chirped, grinning almost mockingly up at him.

Before he had a chance to reply, she turned and set off for the command tent. Once she was a few steps away, she threw a glance over her shoulder. The commander was had remained in place, running one hand through his hair, a puzzled expression on his face.

A taste of your own medicine, she thought triumphantly.

A grin spread across her face, and didn’t disappear until she’d reached her destination.

 

* * *

 

The commander’s tent was much larger than any of the others Nieve had seen around Haven. There was room enough for the tallest of men to stand up unhindered, but perhaps a qunari might have to stoop. Though the tent was spacious, it didn’t contain a lot aside from a desk in the centre. There were shelves with maps and other documents, and a low bed behind a folding screen, but aside from that it was fairly open. The thick canvas was not completely soundproof, but Nieve definitely felt as if she was in a small room rather than a mere tent.

Not wanting to use the commander’s chair, Nieve had situated herself on a small stool at one end of his desk. She had spent the last couple of hours sorting through the stack of reports that had been waiting for her. Nieve liked the paperwork. Working her way through the coded messages was like solving a puzzle, and the details inside were a treasure trove to an invesitagtor like herself. Not that she was going to be sharing it with anyone, of course, but there was a certain satisfaction gained from just _knowing_ things.

She heard the rustle of the tent flap opening, and looked up to see the commander stepping in. Leaving it slightly open, he moved towards the desk. She smiled pleasantly at her superior, but he seemed preoccupied.

“Maker!” he jumped when he noticed her presence, “I forgot you were here.”

Well that’s nice of you, Nieve thought, I’ve only been helping you out the last few hours.

The commander moved to his chair and sat down heavily, letting a breath escape his lungs as he landed. He leaned his on his elbows and rubbed his eyes before turning his attention to his desk.

He looked exhausted, squeezing his eyes shut for a second as he regarded the piles of paper Nieve had sorted. Leliana had told her that he worked hard, but only now did Nieve realise that she had never actually seen him sit down. She would have felt sorry for him, had he not been so cold with her.

“These ones are your most pressing, that top one is a requisition from the Herald” she pointed to the small pile directly in front of him, before adding softly, “The others can err…probably wait.”

He nodded, wordlessly picking up the top missive and reading its contents.

Nieve had yet to meet the Herald of Andraste. The elf was currently in the Hinterlands, trying to gain access to horses for the Inquisition. The requisition was a request for watch towers to be built around the area. Apparently, with mages and Templars fighting all over, bandits had swept through to profit from the chaos.

The commander sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“What kind of resources does he think we have?” he muttered.

Realising he’d spoken aloud, he looked over at Nieve. She cocked an eyebrow at him, encouraging him to go on.

“He can go around hunting things and gathering blankets for these people, but building structures requires planning, resources, labour… I don’t know if our Herald understands how things work. We need the horses, but…” he explained.

Nieve felt for the people trapped in the middle of it all. She understood both sides, having read a few of the scouts’ reports. The Inquisition wanted to help people and gain support, but they didn’t want to set a precedent of being ordered around. The ambassador had said they wanted to appear strong and benevolent to gain favour, but not so much as to be taken for fools. However, they _did_ need the horses, and Nieve herself had a personal feeling about the issue.

“I think it makes sense,” she found herself saying.

This time it was his turn to send her a questioning look. She didn’t know whether it was her place to speak on the matter, but she continued anyway.

“Would you leave your home, your family, knowing they were unprotected? The Blight wasn’t so long ago, these people will remember what it was like to leave their home behind,” she paused, fidgeting with her quill, “ _I_ remember.”

Nieve hadn’t intended to make it personal – it had just slipped out. She kicked herself for speaking out of turn, staring down at her hands to avoid the commander’s gaze. When she finally looked up, his expression was one of concern.

“I thought you were from Denerim?” he asked.

“I live there now,” she shrugged, “I’m from Lothering.”

His lips rounded to form a silent O. Mentioning her village usually had that effect on Fereldans. Lothering was a one of the first major villages wiped out by the Blight. Due to its position on the Imperial Highway, its role in the Hero of Ferelden’s journey, as well as being the former home of the ‘Champion of Kirkwall’, her village had become famous.

Many places had managed to rebuild in the last decade, but Lothering’s people could not produce any crops. As a result, the name only meant one thing to the people of Ferelden. It reminded them all of the permanent consequences of the Blight – the lost things that couldn’t be replaced.

“I’m er… I’m sorry,” the commander ventured, clearly looking to fill the silence, “It is good that your family survived.”

“Not my family…” she murmured, “Just me.”

Though she kept it from her face, Nieve was cringing on the inside. More for his sake than for herself – she had dealt with the death of her family. Most people in Denerim had lost loved ones, if not in the outlying villages, then in the Battle for Denerim itself. It almost made things easier. It was something they all had in common, they acknowledged, and got on with rebuilding.

“Well I…” the commander started.

He was unable to find the words this time, instead staring down into the missive on the desk. She hadn’t expected to throw in the grenade that was her home town, but it really seemed to have him reconsidering the requisition. Not wanting to push too far, Nieve went back to her work. This was the most words they had ever said to each other in one sitting, and a strong personal note had put them both quite outside of their comfort zone.

“Honnleath.”

Nieve looked up to see the commander’s chin resting on his knuckles.

“My village,” he continued, “it was hit by the Blight too.”

Nieve knew that from the dossier of course, but hearing him say it was completely different. She had had this conversation with countless people in the last few years, and she knew how the pain felt. She examined his face, searching for the smallest of expressions, but he remained impassive.

“Your family…?” she asked quietly.

“My parents didn’t make it,” he let out a breath before continuing, “but my siblings survived. The townspeople hid behind a magical barrier until the Hero of Ferelden came along.”

His eyes widened for a moment, and Nieve thought he gave the slightest of shudders.

“Commander?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he replied, “I think if I could have done something to protect my village I would have. The Herald can have his damned towers. We need those horses.”

She smiled, pleased not only that he’d come around to the idea, but also that he’d shown a bit of emotion. Though he’d dropped the subject quickly, as a result Nieve was at least inclined to believe that the commander wasn’t made from stone. Not just from the conversation, but also the fact that he looked absolutely exhausted as he slowly etched his reply at the bottom of the page.

“Would you like me to take it for you?” she asked as he dragged himself out of his chair.

“What?”

He shot her a confused look.

“I need to give Leliana a report anyway,” she replied, “and you look like you could use a rest.”

He stared at her for a moment in disbelief, but a look of relief washed over his face.

“Sure,” he agreed, and handed her the requisition, “I have some more to get through anyway.”

She had meant rest in a more traditional sense, but for the commander, maybe paper work was rest. She took the letter and rose to her feet. As she turned and headed for the door she heard the sound of him slump back down into his chair.

“Thanks, Agent.”

With one foot out the tent flap she turned to see the most sincere expression she’d seen the commander wear. It was still no more than a worn-out half-smile, but to her it read as progress. She wondered if maybe he was human after all.

“Anytime, Commander."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you didn't think they were going to get on straight away... where's the fun in that? More characters/fun stuff to come <3


	4. Chapter 4

The tent flap burst open, and the commander stormed in, muttering curses under his breath. Nieve looked up from the end of the desk which had become her regular workspace. He grumbled nonsense as he tied the canvas so it remained open. Nieve shivered as the outside air circulated around the tent. It didn’t seem to matter how cold it was, the commander never left the entrance fully closed.

“Who was on roads today?” he growled as he made his way to the desk.

Nieve looked up at him with raised eyebrows. She had grown used to the commander’s temperament, but she didn’t have to like it. They had managed to maintain a functional working relationship – he even gave some of her jokes a wry smile – but he hadn’t exactly warmed to her. Sometimes she kicked herself for taking the job with the Inquisition – being ordered around was something she didn’t think she’d ever get used to. It occurred to her that before the Inquisition, the only people she had ever worked for had been her family, both in Lothering and Denerim. She had _pretended_ to work for people before, usually when she was paid by a client to learn their secrets, so having a real superior was… trying.

Nevertheless she reached to the shelf behind her for the duties roster. The commander stood in front of the desk, his gaze boring down on her as she searched the columns. Tensions had been high in Haven, with both the Templar order and rebel mages vying for the Inquisition’s support. Debates could be heard in every corner of the camp, and of course the commander had some strong feelings about the issue. Nieve had elected not to bring it up with him for both of their sakes.

 Shrugging off his bluntness, she recited the names of the soldiers responsible for clearing the winding mountain roads.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Only a shoddy job,” he seethed, “the build-up caused a supply convoy to get stuck on the way in. Either someone’s not pulling their weight or we need more hands – this is the second time this week.”

“Hmm…Let me see if I can figure out which,” Nieve said, poring over list of assigned soldiers.

The commander sighed as he moved to sit at the desk. He never did so gently, always collapsing into the chair as if his legs had lost their will to stand. The man was a ball of tension, but it was as if the wind went out of him for a second after he touched the chair. And every time she watched him, Nieve felt a pang of sympathy for the commander.

“Are you going to hide in the trees, Agent?” he asked with a huff.

Aaand there it goes, she thought, sighing as her compassion flew out into the snow.

It took all her willpower to keep her eyes from rolling. Her frustration with him mounted, as was taking every chance to remind her that she was a ‘spy’ in an organisation of soldiers. She knew she would have to prove herself to be useful for more than paperwork before he saw her as a more than a clerk.

“Don’t need to,” she replied with a smirk, “here’s your issue. Recruits Fenton and Vincent are both on this detail.”

He met her cocky expression with a blank look.

“..And?”

Of _course_ he hadn’t noticed, she sighed internally. How was she going to put this delicately?

“Well sir, you know that they’re um… well, you know…?” she raised her eyebrows slightly instead of finishing her sentence.

The commander’s handsome face morphed quite comically through stages of confusion, to comprehension, and finally settled on horror.

“Maker’s breath,” he groaned, placing his head in his hands, “are you certain?”

“Yep,” she replied, “Cavanan caught them in the forest cabin a while back, apparently they-”

“I don’t need the details,” he hastily cut her off.

Nieve wanted to laugh out loud – the commander’s reaction was priceless. She hadn’t given it a second thought, besides tucking the information away in her head. It was always good to know who was involved with who, but she hadn’t considered it to be a real problem. The commander however, seemed to be quite frustrated by the situation.

“Right well er,” he stammered, “I guess I should put them on opposite duty rotations?”

Nieve was so busy enjoying his discomfort that it took her a moment to realise that he’d actually asked for her opinion.

“Well that depends,” she said through a poorly concealed grin, “how much do you want them to hate you?”

He fixed her with a hard stare before throwing his hands up in frustration.

“For the love of Andraste… I never had this problem in the Chantry.”

She found it hilarious that the ever-certain commander was so unsure of how to proceed. Was he really that bad with people? Or, even better, could it be that the subject matter made him nervous? Nieve was way too curious a person to let it go.

“Oh really, Commander? Templars never snuck off for a little ‘one-on-one training’?”

She focused on maintaining a questioning look, but on the inside she was rolling with laughter at the look of dismay on her superior’s face. She knew for a fact that Templars still had sex, despite some of them taking vows against it. She wondered if he which camp the commander was in. That knowledge could delight or devastate a number of women in the Inquisition’s ranks.

“Well, I mean, I’m not saying some of the Templars _never_ … there were more important things at hand,” he tripped over his own words in his defence, “the mages need watching… duties to perform… and if they _did_ they did so _discreetly_ ….”

Watching him nervously rub his growing beard, she detected a red tinge in his cheeks. Was the commander blushing?! Nieve decided that this was possibly the best discovery of information she had made at Haven thus far.

“Sure thing, Commander,” she agreed without a trace of sincerity, “look, how about you give them separate duties and the same time off? Problem solved with minimal resentment.”

It was the obvious answer, of course, but Nieve thought guiding him back to business would clear his head. It struck her that although he was very capable as leader of the army, the scale of the Inquisition was something new for him. Her suggestion worked – the commander nodded in agreement and rose quickly from his chair.

“I’ll err, make the changes,” he announced and made his way out of the tent.

Nieve’s mask finally cracked, and she dissolved into a fit of silent laughter. There was a voice of reason in her head telling her to be careful, but it was no match for her sense of mischief. She went back to her work, preoccupied with all the ways she could have fun with this new flustered, blushing version of her commander.

She could almost hear Lodrik groaning all the way from their office in Denerim.

_Shit. Who gave Thorne a new game to play?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the game begins...Sorry for the slow burn. Been out of the writing game for a while. Let me know what you think/what you'd like to see <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you wondered, I took a couple of liberties with the layout of Haven. Realistically, there would be a much larger camp for the Inquisition, as well as residents/visitors etc than what we see in the game. So yeah, Cullen operates from a large tent and there might be a couple of other tweaks to make things work. Just go with it, ok? (but if something isn't clear or confusing just let me know)

* * *

 

Deep down, Nieve knew she was being childish, plotting ways to turn the commander’s face that adorable shade of pink. She knew that, deep, _deep_ down. It didn’t stop her though.

Haven was without a doubt the dullest place she had ever been. It wasn’t that nothing happened – Maker knows that the crack in the sky was definitely _something_ – but it all boiled down to one thing. There was nothing to do for fun.

Nieve was getting antsy. Without her trusted dwarven companion to regale with stories at the end of the day, or a thriving market to peruse, Nieve was left to make her own entertainment. Her short trip to the traders had yielded one bottle of raspberry cordial, as well as a new tunic, and her evening drinks lacked anyone she could really talk to about what she was doing. Confidential information and all that.

That evening in particular, the tavern was teeming with patrons. Due to the Inquisition’s presence, Haven’s population had grown far beyond what the small establishment could hold. As a result, there were nights when the crowd spilled out onto the path, leaning against buildings and the town’s walls. Nieve still managed to slip through the mass of people with relative ease – the hustle and bustle of Denerim had her well-practiced. She had arranged to meet one of the Inquisition’s scouts she got on particularly well with. Elise was no Lodrik, but she enjoyed the girl’s company nonetheless.

With some gentle nudging and some strategic use of her best smile, she made her way to the bar and ordered her drink. Peering round the room, she spotted her new friend Elise hailing her from the middle of one of the long tables – a valuable acquisition in this evening’s crowd.

Nieve navigated her way over and plonked herself down on the seat opposite.

“How did you get that so fast?” the other woman asked, “I had to wait forever!”

Nieve responded by giving her friend an exaggerated pout, fluttering her eyelashes dramatically. The other woman laughed heartily.

“You’re terrible,” she joked, “that’s so unfair!”

Nieve’s face split into a grin. She had developed a fondness for Elise. The younger girl’s light-hearted nature matched her own, though the scout was much more open with her emotions. Nieve had spent so much time in the company of people who did their best to be unreadable, it was refreshing to have a friend who spoke their mind.

“You should try it,” Nieve suggested with a wink, “it saves so much time out of your day.” 

Elise wasn’t unattractive, with her long blond hair and wide chestnut eyes, but Nieve wasn’t sure the girl could deceive anyone to save her life. When they’d first met, she had watched Elise openly sighing while watching the commander train his soldiers. Nieve suggested that the scout might want to rethink her swooning after trying to have a conversation with the man. When Elise responded with ‘who needs him to speak?’ Nieve knew they could be friends.

“Nieve, I don’t know if you’ve met these guys,” Elise gestured to two men sitting next to them, either side of the table, “this is Heiner and Riggs.”

She greeted them with a smile. The man next to her, Heiner, was a solid, bald man with some of the bushiest eyebrows she had ever seen, and a beard to match. Riggs was practically the opposite, a slender young elf with long blond hair tied back from his face. Both men were adorned with tattoos and earrings.

Nieve thought instantly of the men she’d seen around the port in Denerim. She wondered what sailors could be doing in Haven. Though it did hint as to why there were free chairs at the table – Nieve wouldn’t want to chance crossing them.

“A pleasure,” Heiner met her eyes with a grin. Riggs merely nodded.

The group engaged in small talk about the cold, the amount of people in the tavern, and about how lucky they were to get a table. It turned out that the pair were merchants, passing through Haven on their way through the Frostback Mountains. Apparently Heiner’s ship had wrecked on a reef, and they’d shifted to trading on land as a result. Nieve gave herself a pat on the back for recognising their profession, and reminded herself to stay alert around them.

“She was a beaut,” Heiner was misty-eyed as he spoke, “took us faithfully back and forth from Kirkwall, up and down the coast, anywhere we wanted to go.”

Elise seemed fascinated by the pair – though she seemed fascinated by most things. Nieve listened to the sailor’s stories with a more sceptical attitude. Apparently Riggs had been on Heiner’s crew since he was a boy, spending most of his time up in the crow’s nest. His keen elven eyes could scan the horizon with ease, and with his and swift limbs, he could scale the rigging faster than any man on the crew. Heiner revealed that was how Riggs had gotten his nickname, and joked that he couldn’t remember the real one. The elf in question rolled his eyes, a small smirk betraying his amusement at his old captain’s tale. Nieve got the feeling Heiner told this story a lot.

After an hour – or was it two? – Nieve realised that she still had work to do back in the command tent. She had promised to decode the latest batch of reports for the commander by morning. She hauled herself to her feet, feeling the world spin slightly as the alcohol made its presence felt. With a quick goodbye, she hastily made her way back to her stack of papers. She felt some sense of regret at leaving Elise with the pair of sailors, but they _seemed_ like they were of a decent sort. Nieve didn’t exactly trust them, but they were in the middle of a throng of Inquisition soldiers. She decided her new friend would be alright, and scurried back to her work.

 

* * *

 

The tent flap was partway open when Nieve arrived, and a line of lamplight spilling out onto the path. The commander at his desk, poring over his paperwork. He looked up for a fraction of a second to identify his guest, but his gaze flicked straight back down when he saw it was Nieve.

“Agent.”

He still had yet to call her by her name, but Nieve didn’t mind the formality. It wasn’t as if they were friends. Since their exchange about their home villages, they had fallen back into a routine of business. She hated being vulnerable, especially when she was working, preferring to be in control of the situation than succumb to her emotions. She didn’t mind pretending it never happened.

“Commander.”

She took her seat at the desk and picked up the first of her reports. It took a moment for her eyes to focus – the effect of her time at the tavern.

Oh, piss it, she cursed herself for having that last drink.

She was no slacker, and with the commander sitting only a few feet away, she couldn’t very well _not_ get the work done. Luckily, her new bottle of raspberry cordial was sitting on the desk from earlier. She sent a silent thanks to Andraste and poured herself a glass of the bright pink liquid. Taking a big gulp to rehydrate herself, she let out a sigh of relief, drawing the attention of the commander.

“Drinking on the job, Agent?” he asked lightly.

Nieve looked up at him in surprise, not thinking she had displayed any outward signs of intoxication. She followed his line of sight to the bottle she had placed back on the table.

It took a moment for her slightly addled brain to realise two things. First, the commander was referring to the drink in her hand, not the ones she’d had at the tavern. Secondly, he could easily read the label on the bottle, which could only mean one thing.

The commander was _joking_.

Well throw me in a fire and call me Andraste, she thought to herself, he isn’t made of ice.

She stared at him, wide-eyed with surprise for a long moment. When he finally shifted his gaze to meet hers, his eyebrow quirked in a silent question. Nieve realised she hadn’t actually replied to him.

“Sorry commander,” she composed herself, “but maybe I should get a real one. We need to celebrate your learning to joke.”

He snorted. It might have been an unattractive noise coming from some, but Nieve thought it suited him. Coming from the commander, it was practically a booming laugh.

“I joke plenty,” he said, returning to his letter, “When there’s call for it.”

Now it was Nieve’s turn to snort. So he did have a sense of humour, provided he wasn’t too busy. And he was _always_ busy.

But honestly, jokes _and_ blushes? Her serious and unwavering commander had had quite a day. Her thoughts went back to his flustered expression that morning – it had given her so much joy! She hadn’t had a chance to tell Elise about it, but she was sure the scout would have laughed, if her reaction to Nieve’s charms at the tavern were anything to go by.

Maybe I’m a bad influence on that girl, Nieve mused, staring into the cup she cradled against her chest.

As she looked down, she noticed that the leather thonging at the top of her new tunic was coming slightly undone. She moved to fix it, but something made her stop. A wicked thought crossed her mind as she stole a quick glance at the commander. His golden head was bent over his letter, giving the message his full attention.

I wonder… Nieve pondered, what else would make him blush?

She proposed an experiment to herself. With no one to chide her, and her voice of reason silenced by ale, she chose to unfasten the leather slightly instead.

With a couple of light tugs, the neckline widened, exposing a little of her impressive cleavage. The weather was so cold in the mountains, Nieve had been covering up her skin as much as possible, but it wasn’t so bad in the shelter of the command tent.

She leaned forward with head over her paperwork, resting her elbows on the table. She positioned herself so that if the commander looked her way, he would have an unobstructed view of the space between her breasts.

Nieve knew she was being shameless, but reminded herself it was just an experiment – a bit of fun. To openly flirt with him would only serve to make him look down on her more, and the man had enough admirers, whether he admitted it or not. But to just let him catch a glimpse? There was no harm in that.

She went back to her decoding, keeping her at least part of her attention on the commander. They both continued to work in silence, with the exception of their quills scratching against the pages.

After a time, the only sound she could hear was of her own making. She glanced up, and the commander’s head snapped back down to his letter.

Did he look? She wondered.

Examining his face, she noticed his eyes remained fixed on one point, rather than moving along the lines – he wasn’t reading.

Nieve concealed a triumphant smirk, dropping her head down to finish her notes. In the corners of her vision she saw his head turn slowly toward her once again.

He’s definitely looking now, her mind cheered, perhaps our fair commander likes what he sees?

She finished the line she was writing, and lifted her head to look at him. Predictably, and almost comically, he dropped his gaze again.

“Did you want something, commander?” she asked innocently.

“I err,” he began, a hint of a blush colouring his cheeks, “no, I’m fine…”

There it was! Maker, for such a powerful, warrior of a man, he sure did have his shy moments. Nieve savoured the moment, content that she commanded some form of power between them. Even if it was just being able to attract his gaze.

“Well then, I’m done for the night,” she laid down her quill.

She knew it would be pushing things, and she kicked herself for it, but Nieve loved his reaction too much.

In for a silver, in for a sovereign, she thought to herself.

Knowing what would be on display for her commander, she leaned back in her chair, feigning a yawn and stretching her arms out to the side. She arched her back, and the fabric of the tunic stretched against the swell of her breasts. She finished off by rolling her neck back and forth to release the tension of the day.

Peering at him through her eyelashes, she could see he was clearly going through a kind of internal conflict. With one hand nervously massaging the back of his neck, his eyes darted away from her body, before slowly making their way back again. Pretending not to notice, she rose from her chair and wished him a good night. He stumbled through a reply, and she made her way out of the tent as casually as she could.

Once she was out in the cold, she hastily pulled the front of her tunic closed.

Not a manoeuvre for the outdoors, she noted.

As she made her way back to her tent, she couldn’t help but grin. She had proved that the commander wasn’t as above such things as he made it seem. She felt victorious, as if she had taken him down a peg, though deep down she knew that wasn’t true. But she had proved that he was a man like any other – just a bit more grumpy and serious.

But oh, how she had enjoyed his discomfort. The warmth spreading across his cheeks made his coldness easier to bear. Commander Cullen of the Inquisition’s Army, and she could make him _blush_.

And just like that, Nieve Thorne had discovered her new favourite hobby. It may have proven a slight distraction, but overall it was harmless. It was only flirting, and indirect flirting at that. That couldn’t cause any trouble, right?

…Right?


	6. Chapter 6

Maker, she was enjoying herself.

Nieve had spent the last few days testing the composure of her superior. She still did her work, of course, running messages and helping him with his paperwork, but every so often she would just stand a little bit closer, or bend a little further as she reached over the table. The way he reacted – or rather, pretended not to – was sometimes the thing that got her through the day.

It wasn’t as if she was actually making any advances on the handsome commander, but she definitely liked that he _looked_. Did she want to push things any further? No way. The man was about as interesting as a piece of wood. Sure he was pretty, and Maker knows she appreciated that, but his unfeeling attitude was so cold that any attraction froze along with it.

That, and he’d been getting on her nerves. She had been working hard, helping out as many people as she could around Haven – as well as absorbing the gossip – but he never seemed to see her effort. She had seen him interact with others, and she had seen him be pleasant to them. What was it about her that put him off so much?

“Are you listening, Agent?” his voice cut through her daydreaming.

Nieve looked up to meet the commander’s intense stare. He sat with one elbow on the table, chin resting on his knuckles. He looked annoyed with her, as usual. At least this time he had a reason to be. She had been off in a daze which was – quite embarrassingly – about him.

“Sorry Commander,” she replied, her eyes downcast, “go on.”

“I was saying we need more of _everything_ ,” he continued, his frustration showing in his voice, “whichever party we ally with, there will be a lot more people in Haven soon, and we need to be ready.”

Nieve nodded, recalling requests for more leathers and herbs as she made the rounds of the herbalist and forge. Every little bit helped, and as the commander said, they were about to get a number of new arrivals. She jotted down a few notes on the parchment in front of her.

She would be glad when their new alliance was made, although it would bring in a lot more work for her. Since she arrived she had made some observations to Leliana about the people she thought most likely to be informants. She let the Spymaster deal with the details of who they could be supplying information to, Nieve just kept an eye on them. The commander ran a tight ship, and for the most part the Inquisition’s troops seemed loyal, but with the influx of people she never knew who could be slipping in with them.

“We’ll need bigger storehouses too,” he went on, “we can’t keep everything in the Chantry and a few tents. Besides that, the Chantry needs to be available for the Templars to pray.”

She looked up from her page. The Templars? It had been clear which side the commander supported from the beginning, but Nieve didn’t think the council of leaders had made their decision yet.

“The Templars?” Nieve asked, “Has it been decided?”

Realising his mistake, the commander rubbed a hand through the stubble of his chin. He had been clearly infuriated with the debate from the beginning.

“If the Herald has any sense, yes,” he grumbled, speaking almost to himself more than to Nieve, “though he still hasn’t let go of the Mages’ request.”

Nieve had been avoiding the topic wherever and whenever it came up. She had no love for Templars. During her days in Lothering they were a pain, but it wasn’t until she moved to Denerim did she see the real corruption. There were good ones of course, but Nieve felt like they were the exception rather than the rule. That said, if she were more of an upstanding citizen than a mischief-maker, maybe she’d find them on her side more often.

And then there were the Mages. She had known so many more good mages than good Templars. She’d sheltered them in Lothering, fought with them in Denerim, and worked with them in the years since the Blight. But she knew that their power was dangerous. The ones that didn’t know how to control it, or gave into temptation, could destroy everything. Kirkwall was evidence of that – and yet it was a mage that had brought order back to the city.

She didn’t know which the best option for the Herald to choose was. From her own experiences, her heart screamed out against trusting the Templars. Then again, welcoming in a group of rebel mages was just asking for a big old ‘I told you so’.

The commander seemed to sense she was on the fence.

“The Templars are a better option,” he asserted, “they’re trained in combat against demons and magic, and if the breach continues to spit them out, there’s no one better to seal it, wouldn’t you agree?”

Well, he wasn’t _wrong_. About some of it, that was. Nieve thought that perhaps the people who knew most about weird magical events might be the mages themselves, but as for the ability to seal it, the Templars probably had the skills. Nieve cursed the fact that they would never work alongside each other, though she completely understood why.

“I’m glad I’m not the one deciding,” she shrugged, hoping to change the topic.

Her answer was met with an angry sound, halfway between a sigh and a growl.

“Maker’s breath Agent, do you care about _anything_?” he exclaimed suddenly.

 She dropped her quill in surprise. Her eyebrows knitted together as she shot him a confused look. His golden eyes were fixed on her, his handsome face showing anger and… disappointment? He looked away after a second, focusing on a spot somewhere on the far wall.

“You claim to be here to help the cause, yet you wander around as if it were a day at the fair,” he seethed, “the Divine is dead. The war continues, the sky broke open and Andraste herself threw out the Herald. We’re all working to fix the _world_ , and you’re all jokes and shrugs. Why are you really here, Agent?”

His tirade practically knocked the breath from her lungs. So there it was. The reason he could barely seem to tolerate her – he didn’t trust her.

She realised in that moment that she was wrong about him. The commander was fire, not ice. What she had taken as cold and calculating was instead a burning, single-minded passion. His seriousness was his focus, his _resolve_ driving him forward.

He cares, Nieve realised, he cares much more than you thought.

She felt a stab of regret that she hadn’t seen it earlier. But just because she was wrong about him, that didn’t mean he was right about her. Nieve wasn’t used to wearing her emotions on her sleeve, but she had been working as hard as she could to help the Inquisition. She didn’t know if she believed all this ‘Herald of Andraste’ stuff – she hadn’t even met the man – but that didn’t mean she didn’t believe in the Inquisition’s cause.

She began to shake with anger. Was she supposed to scream her feelings from the rooftops? Even knowing her background, he had taken her at face value, like an _idiot_. How could he possibly know how she felt? She stood up, fists clenched, and she opened her mouth to let him know.

“You think… that I don’t care?” she began, her voice trembling, “you think that because I don’t announce them to the world every day that I don’t have opinions?”

She gained some momentum, and the uncertainty fell away from her voice.

“Of course I care about what’s happening, _Commander_ , but some of us haven’t had a cause to fight for since the Blight. We’ve been just trying to survive with what it left behind. The fucking sky rips open and you think I don’t have feelings about it? Because honestly, it scares me as shitless as anyone.”

She paused for a second, both horrified and relieved that she had finally said it out loud. The commander’s eyes were still burning into her as she spoke. Glaring back at him, she continued.

“You think I’ve ever had a part in anything like this before? In my job, getting too political only gets you one thing – a knife in the back. I can’t afford idealism, Commander, and neither can the people who rely on me. So maybe I’m out of practice at being a bleeding heart, but if I voiced every feeling that came into my head, I wouldn’t be alive to decode your bloody reports!”

Silence enveloped the room as the two processed the words she had flung at him. She was still glaring at him, the back of her eyes prickling with anger. Her rant had taken him by surprise, but he had recovered, and stared back at her with equal intensity. He didn’t need to speak, his expression did the talking for him.

His eyebrows raised slightly, challenging her to continue. Was she really going to keep talking to her superior this way?

Nieve wasn’t stupid. She was headstrong, disobedient, and out of her comfort zone – but not stupid. She’d gone too far by exploding and swearing at her commanding officer, and she decided she had to leave the tent. With hot tears burning behind her eyes, she knew that one wrong word from the commander would set her off again. Though she may have lost her cool, but Nieve refused to cry in front of that man.

“Excuse me,” she murmured, and strode purposefully towards the door.

He made no move to stop her.

 

* * *

 

 

Nieve stormed through the camp, visiting her tent briefly to fetch her bow. There was very little for her to do to vent her anger in Haven, but archery practice had always helped clear her head. Slinging a quiver of arrows over her shoulder and tying a herb collecting pouch to her belt, she stomped off towards a wooded area around the lake.

Let’s see if I can’t find some elfroot while I’m out, she thought to herself, hopefully I can be useful before the commander brings me up in front of Leliana.

The idea made her stomach churn. Nieve had known Leliana since before the Blight, and she had been so proud that the spymaster had chosen her to keep an eye on the commander. But Nieve was ashamed to admit that so far she had been little use to either of them. She was supposed to be able to read people, so why had she been so wrong about the commander? Maybe the military wasn't for her, and she was better off heading back to Denerim.

Her thoughts whirled around in her head as she trudged on through the snow, her eyes remained alert for any signs of elfroot. The herb grew quickly and could be gathered often, which was a kindness from the Maker as it was the main ingredient in most healing potions and poultices. Nieve knew she that her excursion wasn’t going to fill the Inquisition’s demands, but giving herself a task made her feel slightly better.

She continued further out, ignoring the druffalo roaming out in the open. She knew better than to try and take one of those out on her own, but kept her eyes peeled for nugs. She sent a silent apology to Leliana, deciding that if she was going to shoot something, she may as well be collecting food and leather. She had been talking to the Inquisition’s blacksmith, who was originally from her hometown, and he had mentioned that they were always grateful for leather. Nugskin wasn’t the highest quality, but it was easily obtained and had a wide range of uses.

Nieve reached a wooded area, stopped to pull a bowstring out of her belt pouch and bent over her weapon. The trees were sparsely covered in leaves, providing plenty of shelter for elfroot to grow, and nugs were often burrowed in their roots. As well as for hunting, she didn’t like to be this far out without any kind of protection. She had a knife in her belt, but wasn’t keen on letting anything get close enough for her to need it.

Her shortbow wasn’t designed for hunting in the woods, but instead for protection in the streets of Denerim. It was easy to carry and quick to draw, which made it perfect for her needs. Unless she had to deal with someone wearing a full plate of armour, she favoured accuracy and ease of use over power.

Nieve straightened, immediately feeling more comfortable with a ready bow in her hands. She stepped into the trees with confidence, despite the shame of her encounter with her superior in the back of her mind. It wasn’t long before she spotted some pale green leaves poking through the snow. She felt a small sense of victory as she bent to gather the herb.

As she tucked her prize into her belt pouch, Nieve froze. An unnatural sound reached her ears, and though she couldn’t place it, it definitely didn’t belong in the woods. She stood up slowly, her eyes darting around for the source of the noise. She silently lifted a hand up to her quiver, slid an arrow out, and placed it against her bowstring. The area around Haven was relatively safe, but she was taking no chances.

After a few moments of silence, a series of soft twangs resonated through the trees. They varied in pitch, but maintained a consistent rhythm.

Is that… music? Nieve wondered.

She remained alert as she crept carefully towards the source of the sound, keeping her arrow nocked just in case. As the sounds grew louder, she was sure that someone was playing a string instrument somewhere nearby. Spotting some light tracks in the snow to her left, she followed them to the base of a large tree, where she found nothing but a longbow and quiver resting against its trunk. The music had stopped, but Nieve’s eyes swept around the area, searching for visual clues instead.

“Looking for something?” a deep voice asked.

She jumped, drawing her bow and frantically searching her surroundings for the man who spoke. When she couldn’t’ see any indication of him on the ground, her eyes trailed up the trunk of the large tree, with her bow following suit.

A dark-haired elf lounged casually on one of the branches, his back against the trunk of the tree. A lute rested in his hands, his long fingers paused over the strings as he regarded Nieve, seemingly unfazed by the threat of an arrow.

“There’s no need for that. We’re on the same side,” he said, one hand opening his coat to show the Inquisition emblem on his armour.

Nieve lowered her bow and breathed a sigh of relief. Still, she eyed him with suspicion. What was he doing out here? He clearly hadn’t been expecting company, with his bow far out of reach on the ground. If he _was_ waiting for someone, they obviously were no threat to him.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked.

He plucked away at the strings of his lute for a few seconds, letting the notes fade before he spoke.

“I needed to think, so I took a break to go and sit in a tree,” he looked down at her with a grin, “they let you do that when you’re an elf.”

She surprised herself by letting out a small laugh in response.

Nieve twirled her arrow in her fingertips. Usually she would have replied with something equally jovial, but her mind had been too taken up with other emotions. She had been so determined to be alone, that the elf’s sudden appearance had thrown her. On top of that, she had the nagging feeling that she had seen him somewhere before.

“I’m still getting the hang of this Inquisition business,” he continued with a shrug, “sometimes you’ve just got to run off into the woods, right?”

Nieve couldn’t help but nod in agreement. Isn’t that exactly what she had done? Still, she didn’t like surprises, and felt the need to know exactly who this stranger was.

“Err, I don’t think we’ve met yet. Are you new here too?” she asked.

He cocked his head to one side, appraising her with a long stare. He shifted from his perch and began to climb down the tree. He swung himself from the branch and guided the drop by grasping the lower limbs. He made it look effortless, descending almost lazily before landing lightly on the snow.

Nieve finally got a good look at the man now he was standing in front of her. He was tall for an elf, but he had the same long, lithe build as the rest of the race. His shoulder-length hair was almost black, shaved on one side, tied and pushed over to the other, revealing a long pointed ear cuffed with gold. He was unmistakably Dalish – his dusky brown skin adorned by the thick, dark lines of his elven tattoos. The design ran from his forehead to his temples, down his cheeks, and came up under his chin to meet his lips.

Nieve could have stared for a while longer – the elf was _striking_ – but her thoughts were interrupted by his hand stretching out towards her.

“I think I’d remember meeting you,” he said with a sly smile, “what’s your name?”

She returned her arrow to its quiver and offered her hand in response, temporarily dumbstruck as she met his eyes. They were an emerald green, gazing down at her from under long, dark lashes.

That’s the colour the trees should be, her inner voice sighed.

It took her a moment to realise that she hadn’t actually answered his question. Chiding herself for getting lost in a daze, she grinned back at the handsome elf.

“Sorry, my name’s Nieve,” she recomposed her mask of confidence, “I work for the commander. I um, haven’t seen you around Haven yet.”

It had not been a good day for her composure – that much was certain. She had met so many people since she joined the Inquisition, but this was the most shaken she’d been since her first meeting with the commander. Since _that_ encounter, every one up until now had been a walk in the park for her. Except now she was stuttering.

“Andaran atish’an, Nieve,” he replied, holding her gaze as he inclined his head, “I’m Sylahn.”

The Elvhen greeting flowed smoothly off his tongue, causing something to roll over in Nieve’s stomach. He released her, and the warmth of his grasp was replaced by cool breeze on her skin.

“I still haven’t quite figured out what I do here,” he continued, releasing her hand to point upwards, “any ideas on how we’re supposed to patch that up?”

Nieve glanced up at the swirling mass of clouds above, surrounding the glowing green phenomenon that was the Breach. It was quite the spectacle, but no matter how many days she’d woken up to it lingering above them, she still avoided looking directly at it. She realised that funnily enough, pretending it wasn’t an issue was exactly what wound her up in the woods with this stranger. Technically she was out collecting herbs and _not_ running from her problems – or at least that was what she told herself.

“I dunno...” she shrugged as she gazed skyward. “Don’t suppose anyone’s tried sticking some elfroot on it?”

Sylahn responded with a low chuckle, giving Nieve confidence as she met his eyes with a playful smirk.

“My mother was a herbalist,” she winked, “trust me, elfroot fixes everything.”

“A wise woman,” he replied with a grin, “what are we waiting for?”

“Actually, I’m out collecting elfroot right now,” Nieve gestured to her belt pouch, “and nug pelts. Though I haven’t seen any around yet.”

“Ah yes, you did seem to be of a mind to shoot something…”

His eyes drifted to the bow in her hand, then back to her face.

“I’m sorry! I really didn’t except to see anyone out here,” she scrambled to apologise to the handsome elf.

But the corners of his eyes were crinkled in mirth, and Nieve realised he wasn’t done joking. Spending so much time with the commander had considerably brought down the amount of humour in her life - she was really slacking in the ‘picking up signals’ department.

“Maybe I could help?” he offered, “unless you’re still planning to shoot me?”

Nieve thought about it for a moment. Although she had wanted to be alone in the woods, he had already charmed the anger out of her, and she realised that she wouldn’t mind his company. But the fact that she was immediately drawn to him made her second-guess his intentions – she knew full well that instant familiarity could be dangerous.

I’d have to keep an eye on him, she pondered as she looked him up and down.

He noticed her appraising look. Instead of shifting nervously or striking a subtle pose like most men did under her gaze, Sylahn remained still – a picture of confidence. When her eyes reached his face, he was staring calmly back at her, a light smile playing on his lips. Her stomach did another flip as she willed herself not to give in to blushing.  
  
 Maybe keep both eyes on him, she thought with a sigh.

“If you can behave, then I’ll only be shooting nugs,” she declared.

With a grin, he went to gather his bow and arrows from the base of the large tree. He slung both his quiver and his lute over his shoulder, and picked up his longbow. He began walking in the direction Nieve had approached from, dropping his deep voice lower as he passed her.

“If I don’t behave, maybe you can take me home as a prize instead.”

Oh Maker help me, she paused to settle the stirring in her stomach before following him into the trees.


	7. Chapter 7

Despite Nieve’s concerns, the elf was excellent company. Remembering her role in Haven, Nieve remained vigilant, avoiding talking about her work, the commander, or really anything to do with Inquisition matters. Thankfully, the elf seemed to be doing the same, and they engaged in light, jovial conversation as they searched the trees.

It was clear from the beginning that the elf was a flirt, but so was she. They quipped and bickered their way through the woods, though Nieve was careful not to say anything too suggestive while they were alone and away from the camp. If she had the measure of him, he’d respect her boundaries, but she wasn’t going to take any chances with a stranger. She wasn’t fool enough to trust him completely.

 Nieve spotted a nug some distance away, the creature stopping to investigate something in the snow. She raised her bow, nocked an arrow and let it fly. Embarrassingly, she missed, and the arrow plunged into the snow to the right, causing it to dash off. It only managed to get a few yards away before an arrow sped past Nieve and buried itself in the rodent’s flank.

Nieve head whipped around to see Sylahn lowering his bow. He met her eyes, his handsome face was adorned with a triumphant smirk, and began striding towards his mark.

“Elf,” he said with an exaggerated shrug.

“Show off,” she muttered in reply as he passed her.

Though Nieve rolled her eyes, she couldn’t hide the smile spreading across her face. They had gathered a decent amount of elfroot, and they had hunted more nugs than Nieve would have been able to bring back herself. She realised as well that this was the most fun she had had since joining the Inquisition. However, looking up to the sun’s position in the sky, she felt deflated. Her adventure into the woods had been just the break she needed, but it was time to return to reality.

“Alright, it’s time I headed back to Haven,” she announced to her companion, “do you want to come along? Or does the elf need more forest time?”

Sylahn chuckled lightly, but did not reply immediately. He was silent as he bent over the squirming nug. He made quick work of the animal, expertly breaking its neck to relieve its pain. Once he retrieved his arrow and bagged the carcass, he turned towards Nieve.

“If the human needs her town, the elf can escort her,” he teased.

“The human needs her _job_ ,” she replied, before adding quietly, “if she still has one...”

Noticed the change in tone, Sylahn simply nodded and gestured for them to proceed through the trees. Nieve felt a stab of regret for breaking their silence on Inquisition business. She didn’t know whether or not the elf had been avoiding the subject as well, but she had been enjoying being away from her duties, both physically and mentally. Away from the sounds of the forge and the training soldiers, away from the mage versus Templar debate, and away from the source of her frustration – the commander.

They walked in silence for a time, which left Nieve with nothing to distract her from her thoughts. Just when she was about to fill the silence with some mundane comment, the sound of the elf’s lute reached her ears. He plucked the strings deftly, creating a beautiful melody as they moved through the trees. He was good too, she noticed, and she couldn’t help but feel a slight spring in her step as he played. It wasn’t until Nieve stopped to gather some elfroot from the base of a tree that the elf spoke.

“So who’d you piss off?” he asked casually, continuing to play his tune as he leant against the trunk.

The bluntness of his question prompted a small puff of a laugh from her nose. She didn’t want to divulge too much, but he wasn’t pressing too hard. If he was trying to get information from her, he was playing a long game.

“Just today?” she asked lightly, “or do you want my full body of work?”

“Not that your full body isn’t tempting,” he joked, looking down at her through dark lashes, “but let’s stick with today.”

Nieve shrugged off the elf’s suggestive tone, grateful that he’d moved the conversation on by himself. She enjoyed the flirtation, but her mind was on the conflict with her commander.

“My commander and I had a… difference of opinion,” she admitted as she stood up, “…I err, may have overreacted.”

She didn’t want to go into details, but it felt good to say something out loud. She knew she would have to apologise to him, but whether or not she had lost her job remained to be seen.

“Ah yes,” he said softly, “there’s a fair bit of that going around at the moment.”

He wasn’t wrong. The entire town seemed to be caught up in arguing over something or other – mostly arguing over who the Inquisition should ally with. Until the higher-ups actually made a call either way, the clamour would continue. Everyone wanted their opinion heard, no matter how biased or uneducated it may be.

“Here.”

She looked towards him to see the elf offering her his lute.

“It helps. Play it.”

The confidence in his voice made her take the instrument from him, though she didn’t know what to do with it. She had attempted to play her mother’s lute when she was very young, but grew frustrated very quickly. She sang to her mother’s music instead, and though Nieve had no particular talent as a child, their songs together were some of her most cherished memories. She didn’t sing much anymore. Since the Blight, she had only made use of the talents that kept her alive – or paid.

“I… don’t know how to play,” she murmured.

“Let me show you,” he replied in an equally soft tone.

He took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them. Taking her hand in his, he wrapped her fingers around the neck of the lute. Nieve felt her heart begin to race at his skin touched her own.

Pull yourself together, Thorne – the order rang through her head.

“So you hold it like this,” he instructed.

 There was something about the elf’s voice than compelled her to do as she was told. It wasn’t that she felt forced or intimidated, but rather that the calm confidence in his deep voice was infectious.

He stepped behind her, keeping one hand next to hers on the neck of the lute. A long, lithe arm stretched around the other side of her, holding the base of the instrument in place. Nieve stood still as Sylahn drew closer – with the exception of one point low in her abdomen, which seemed to be twisting with every movement the elf made.

They were intimately close, although she was surprised to notice that the elf wasn’t actually touching her in any way, with the exception of a stray lock of his hair tickling her neck.

“I’ll make the notes,” his low voice sounded in her ear, “and you just strum.”

His long fingers positioned themselves expertly on one end of the lute, and Nieve brushed her thumb over the strings on the other.

“Good,” he breathed in her ear, sending a shiver through her body.

Nieve continued to strum, watching his fingertips deftly rearrange themselves with every note. She was preoccupied with the closeness of the handsome elf, and her timing wasn’t perfect, but she took satisfaction in the tune they were creating. She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. If Sylahn noticed, he didn’t say anything.

 “You know, the commander is a reasonable man. I’m sure he’ll see past it,” he said gently.

Despite his reassuring tone, for the first time Nieve was inclined to disagree with him. Her experience with her superior had felt completely the opposite of reasonable. Although, after their argument today, she wasn’t sure how much of their encounters she had misread.

“That’s not the term I’d use,” she sighed, before adding, “and to my knowledge Templars don’t deal with mistakes too well…”

The elf chuckled in her ear. She closed her eyes for a moment as the low sound travelled down her spine. The deep tone in his voice was appealing from a distance, but up close it was downright captivating. Nieve almost forgot to play the strings. In that moment, the lute may as well have not existed, except as the object connecting them to each other.

“You can’t blame the poor man for being frustrated with _you_ around,” the elf’s voice was velvet in her ear, “Templars and their vows, after all…”

Nieve couldn’t help but let out a small giggle. It felt wrong to be openly mocking the commander of the Inquisition’s army – her boss – but she was sick of rules. Besides, the strange elf had only echoed her own thoughts from the other day. A blush rose to her cheeks when she considered her shameless teasing. The commander had reacted so comically, it had been hard for her to stop after just one test.

And now here she was, practically in the arms of a stranger due to the same temptations. Is this what she had been putting her boss through?

‘The poor man’ indeed, she thought.

“It would explain why they’re so tense,” she replied simply, too distracted to think of something clever to say.

“Mhmm.”

Their proximity made the elf’s noise of agreement sounded far more sensual than it should have. Had he moved closer? Nieve felt herself hoping he had – a feeling that both surprised and excited her.

“He’ll see reason,” Sylahn continued. “He’d be a fool to send you away.”

That made them sound like lovers having an argument, Nieve thought, and she definitely didn’t have those kinds of feelings for her commander. It was a nice of the elf to say, but the truth of the matter was she hadn’t been much help to the commander or Leliana at all. Unsure of how to respond, she didn’t answer him.

They stood there for a while in silence, save for the music coming from the instrument in their hands. His fingertips danced over the strings as he created the notes, and Nieve’s thumb brought them to life.

After what seemed like an eternity, the elf pulled back, releasing Nieve from her trance.

“Time to get you back,” he sighed, the seductive tone vanished from his voice, “before you’re in real trouble.”

His hand trailed lightly along her arm as he pulled away. Was it just her imagination, or did he sound disappointed?  Nieve felt the same, almost groaning as she left the warmth of his embrace. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was relieved the elf didn’t want to take things too far, but for the most part she was just dreading seeing the commander.

“At least if you are in trouble, we played the right song for you,” he grinned as he took his lute from her.

She had been so wrapped up in their flirtations that she hadn’t noticed the tune they had been playing. If she had known it, she had been too distracted to recognise it.

“It was pretty,” she agreed, “was it a Dalish song?”

“It was,” he replied, “a very apt one at that.”

There was mischief in his eyes as he spoke to her, piquing Nieve’s curiosity.

“What was it about?” she asked.

“Shemshiral Falon’din,” he said in his mothertongue, “it’s a song that pleads to our guide of the dead. If someone is to die, we pray he comes quickly and makes their passage swift.”

Nieve’s mouth fell open as she made the connection with her current situation.

“You!”

She shot him an accusing glare, but was unable to maintain it as he beamed back at her. Instead her face split into a grin as she smacked him lightly on the arm. He dissolved in laughter at her attempts to at least look angry at him as the headed back to Haven.

 

* * *

 

Nieve took a few deep breaths as they approached the village. She could see the commander amongst the training soldiers, speaking to a few of his soldiers. Sylahn walked with her, carrying the bag with their kills.

“You _might_ not want to see this,” she told him in a mock cheerful tone.

“Oh I definitely do,” he replied wickedly.

She laughed and rolled her eyes at him, but she couldn’t calm the storm in her stomach. It wasn’t so much the job – she could find work back home – but the embarrassment of having to front up to her mistake. The commander’s uppity attitude had been bothering her, but she hadn’t meant to explode the way she did. As much as she wanted to run away from it, she was going to have to apologise.

He doesn’t matter anyway, she told herself, it’s Leliana I don’t want to let down.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she was aware that it wasn’t Leliana she had been worrying about all day.  
  
The commander spotted her as she and her companion passed the training ground. She kept her eyes locked on the gates of Haven, hoping to be able to deliver the supplies before she got sent packing.

“Ah, Agent!” his voice rang out, shattering her hopes.

Nieve sucked in a sharp breath and looked over at him. He had left his soldiers and was walking towards her, beckoning with his hand for her to meet him. With a gulp, Nieve obeyed. To her surprise, Sylahn remained at her side as she changed direction. It was a small comfort, though she was worried about getting him into trouble as well. She braced herself for another shouting match with the commander.

“Agent,” he spoke calmly, “may I have a word?”

There it was – the only thing that could have shocked her more than a yell – a polite request.

“Of course, sir,” she replied, matching his formality.

Nieve heard a faint huff of a laugh from the elf at her elbow. Her tone may have been a little different from what she had been using in the woods, but she would have to be on her best behaviour to keep her job.

“Where have you been?” the commander asked, his eyes shifting back and forth between Nieve and her companion.

“I err, went out hunting and gathering herbs,” she replied meekly, gesturing to her herb pouch and the sack that Sylahn was carrying.

“She’s right, Commander,” the elf cut in with a cheerful tone, “we made a great team. Bagged a bunch of elfroot, and got some nug skins for the blacksmith. She _did_ nearly shoot me out of a tree though…”

Nieve looked around at him with wide eyes, willing him to stop talking. Was he trying to get them into trouble, piping up in front of the commander like this? He looked back at her, his face was almost the picture of innocence, save for the twitch of his lips betraying a smirk.

Her eyes flicked back to the commander, who was raising a questioning eyebrow at the elf.

“It’s true,” Sylahn continued, “she threatened to shoot me if I didn’t mind my manners. It’s a shame I did really, I would have made a nice cloak.”

Nieve shot him an incredulous look.

“I still _might_ ” she hissed at him.

“Charming girl,” Sylahn said to the commander, as if Nieve wasn’t standing next to them.

Her boss continued to look back and forward between them, unsure of how to respond to the elf’s chattering. While she was under his gaze, Sylahn took the opportunity to send Nieve a quick wink. She didn’t know what the elf was trying to do, but she was certain he was out of line.

“But she’s all yours now, Commander,” he grinned, as if unaware of the trouble he was causing.

For a moment, the commander looked like he was about to say something to the elf, opening his mouth and slightly raising his hand. It appeared that he gave up the idea, his hand instead rubbing the tension from his forehead before he turned to Nieve.

“A word. In the command tent.”

No sooner had she nodded in response did he move to leave. Before he did so, he turned to Sylahn, excusing himself with a slight bow of the head.

“Herald.”

Nieve froze as the commander strode off towards the command tent.

Herald? As in The Herald of Andraste?

She slowly turned to the elf she had spent the last few hours with. He had struck a casual pose, staring down at his hand and flicking dirt from under a nail with his thumb.

“ _Herald_?” she inquired, an edge in her voice.

He had deceived her, and she felt like a fool. What was really embarrassing was the fact that she really should have known who he was, even if he had only just returned to Haven. Knowing things about Haven was her _job_. Or, at least it was for the next few minutes. She threw a wary glance at the commanders retreating back.

“We didn’t do last names, did we?” he said, his smile still in place, “Sylahn _Lavellan_. Musician, hunter – and more recently, Herald – at your service.”

“Genevieve Thorne,” she replied icily, “Inquisition agent, messenger, and easy mark, apparently.”

His dark eyebrows furrowed slightly at her hostile tone, and for the first time since they had met, he dropped his gaze first.

“It was nice not being those things for a while, wasn’t it?” he asked quietly, his eyes on the snow at her feet.

Was that guilt she saw in his eyes? Nieve chewed her lip in thought. She wanted to be angry that she had been tricked, but the elf was right. It was nice to have been anonymous for a time. And if she had wanted to escape her responsibilities, then she couldn’t imagine how he must feel.

“Well, seems I was _still_ an easy mark,” she replied with a wry smile.

He chuckled lightly, and Nieve decided to forgive his deception.

“Hard for a good hunter to resist.”

His voice descended to that rich tone as his emerald eyes caught hers. There was a ripple low in her abdomen as he held her gaze for a long moment. Then, his long lashes blinked, and the trance was broken.

“I’ll tell Harritt these are from you,” he nodded to the bag over his shoulder.

She nodded dumbly, sad that their time together was at an end.

“I supposed I had better follow him” she jerked a thumb in the direction the commander had gone.

“It’s been a pleasure, Nieve,” he said softly, before a smile broke across his face, “Ir abelas, I’ll pray for you.”

“Thanks…” she rolled her eyes, “Say, could you put a word in to Andraste for me too?”

They shared a laugh and headed their separate ways. Nieve’s mind was reeling at the events of the day. She was hyperaware of the eyes on her as she made her way to the command tent. She didn’t know whether it was her behaviour with the commander or with the Herald that had garnered attention. Not that it mattered, she was probably heading back to Denerim in the morning anyway.

But what a final day to spend in Haven.

Flirting with the Herald of Andraste himself. Way to go, Thorne.

And that bizarrely intimate moment… she’d never be able to convince Lod that ‘playing the lute together’ wasn’t a euphemism. She pushed the thought from her mind as she tried to focus on the task ahead of her, and the man she had to face in a few moments.

Maker have mercy, she prayed as she stepped into the command tent.


	8. Chapter 8

The commander sat with his elbows on his desk, resting his chin on his thumbs behind interlaced fingers. He looked up as she entered, nodding his head toward her seat in a silent order. Nieve obeyed, perching on her chair and laying her hands gently in her lap. She was ready to sit through whatever scolding he was to give her, and intended to do so without folding her arms like a surly child - no matter how much she wanted to.

The commander didn’t appear to be in a hurry to speak. Nieve waited patiently, watching the furrow of his eyebrows, and the intensity of his gaze as he stared at the canvas of the tent’s wall. He shifted to rest his chin on one fist, leaving the other free to drum lightly on the desk. Beginning with his index finger, he let the rest of them fall in sequence, and for a few moments, the only sound in the tent was the slow thud of his fingers on the wood. Then, without taking his eyes off the wall, he spoke in a gentle tone.

“So… we don’t know each other very well, do we?”

Nieve would have laughed had she not been so surprised. Her entire time in the woods had been spent bracing herself for the commander’s fury. His golden eyes flicked to her face as he waited for her response.

“No, Sir,” she replied simply, chancing the smallest of smiles, “we do not.”

Another long silence hung in the air as they both considered the position they were in. Nieve had expected a demand for an apology, so she had one prepared. She decided that she may as well speak her piece anyway.

“I am sorry, Commander,” she began, “My outburst this morning was uncalled for. I’m… not used to this Inquisition business.”

Now I’m quoting Sylahn, she thought to herself. She still reeling from the knowledge that she had met the Herald of Andraste, and they were on a first name basis.

The commander nodded slowly as she spoke.

“If it makes you feel any better, we’re _all_ fairly new at this,” he said with a sigh.

As the breath left his lungs, the tension in his face went with it. Nieve couldn’t tell whether he was relaxed or exhausted, but she was willing to be on the latter.

“So no one knows what they’re doing?” she joked in an attempt to lighten the mood, “I’m definitely reassured.”

He let out a quiet laugh in response. Nieve watched him carefully as his amused expression returned to seriousness.

“I’ve treated you unfairly, Agent.”

Her eyes widened at his statement, wondering – for the umpteenth time that day – if she was dreaming. Her lips parted slightly, preparing to reply, though no words had formed in her mind. Considering she had just apologised for her own behaviour, perhaps the proper response would be to tell him it was alright, and share the blame between them. But Nieve didn’t want to waste this opportunity on false politeness, choosing to simply nod her head instead. After all, if he wasn’t going to pretend he had treated her with equal respect, then why should she?

“I don’t play these games,” he continued. “In the Order we are trained to trust and rely on one another. This cloak and dagger side of things doesn’t sit comfortably with me.”

Nieve continued to nod in understanding. It was no secret that he hadn’t been on board with Nieve’s appointment – he had made it clear from the beginning. Though he was stating the obvious, it was nice to hear him admit it out loud. The idea of subterfuge made the commander uneasy. His frustration was the mark of an honest man – of which Nieve knew very few – and had manifested itself as resentment.

Satisfied that he had said his piece, the commander hauled himself out of his chair and went to the shelf behind Nieve. He returned with two cups, and set a bottle on the desk in front of him. He filled both cups with red liquid and slid one along the table to Nieve.

“I want to trust you, Agent, like Leliana says I can,” he said sincerely, “but as it stands, I know next to nothing about you.”

So he wanted to get to know her. That was.... interesting.

In Nieve’s line of work, a recommendation was usually enough. If someone vouched for you, then you were in. But that was in a world of liars, where everyone had something to hide. The idea of someone actually getting to know her for who she was… it almost a foreign concept to Nieve. With the exception of her business partner, she wasn’t completely honest with anyone, including what remained of her family. Determined not to show her distress, she answered him in a confident tone.

“That’s understandable, Commander. What would you like to know?”

He took a moment to think, rubbing his fingers across the stubble growing on his chin.

“Let’s start simply,” he said, “do you have any family in Denerim?”

The criminal in her froze. Of course it had seemed like a simple question to him, but after years of operating outside the law, to Nieve it sounded a lot like “where do your weaknesses lie”. She pushed that thought to the back of her mind, and kept the unease from her face as she answered.

“An aunt. I live with a friend of mine now, but I stayed with her and my uncle during the Blight. He didn’t survive the Battle of Denerim, but my aunt still lives.”

She didn’t mention the fact that her Aunt was crippled, surviving almost solely on the money Nieve could spare her. Her son, Nieve’s cousin, was off gallivanting around Orlais doing Maker knows what, and rarely visited or wrote. So rarely in fact, that Nieve didn’t even think to count him among her living relatives.

She picked up the drink that the commander had poured for her. She took a sip, smiling as the sweet taste of raspberry cordial slid over her tongue. It was her favourite. Had he bought it for her, after seeing her drinking it the other night? And if he had, was it before or after their argument?  Perhaps it was just a coincidence, but Nieve was grateful for the gesture all the same.

They sat there for some time, exchanging details about their lives and backgrounds. She had been relying on Leliana's dossier, which had only given her an idea of the man in front of her - and the wrong one at that. Ashamed at her premature judgement of the commander, Nieve was as determined to get to know him as he was about her. Though she was asking about him specifically, she logged as many pieces of information about the Templar Order in her mind as she could. The Inquisition soldiers always said that the commander never stopped working, but neither did Nieve. For her, it was more a way of life than a constant effort, and she withheld just as much information as she gave him.

That said, with one exception, what she _did_ choose to tell him was all true.

The commander listened patiently as she told him of her life in Lothering. Her father and brother were farmers, and her mother a herbalist and healer. Nieve had taken to working with her mother, learning to create potions and remedies and care for the sick or injured. She was sent on endless errands, gathering herbs and delivering medicine. She ended up getting to know a wide range of people, and often found herself relishing the latest gossip to make the trips more interesting. When her mother was taken by an illness that swept the town, Nieve had welcomed the distraction even more.

Looking back, it wasn’t surprising that Nieve was in the business of gathering information. She was surprised to notice that her life at Haven wasn’t entirely different from the one she had back in Lothering.

Nieve knew he would ask – everyone did - if she knew the Champion of Kirkwall. When he did so, the lie flowed smoothly from her lips.

“Not well,” she recited, “I only met him a couple of times.”

She couldn’t tell if the commander was relieved or disappointed, but thankfully the conversation moved on. She spoke lightly of her move to Denerim, as if she had simply relocated, rather than fled a burning massacre. She had stayed with her father’s sister, and learnt to fletch arrows in her uncle’s shop. He made bows for the army, and Nieve did what she could to earn her keep under his roof.

She told him of her life in Denerim with a grumpy dwarf and his equally grumpy three-legged cat. They had met while fighting darkspawn in the Ferelden capital, bonding instantly when Nieve put an arrow into the darkspawn attacking him. It was a fitting beginning to their friendship, as they spent the following years working together and keeping each other alive in the chaos of Denerim. She didn’t tell him the scales were heavily tipped in favour of Lod getting her out of trouble – she decided the commander didn’t need to hear the exact ratio.

When she did mention her work, she made sure it was the tamer jobs she had done, disguising herself to spy on nobles and the like. It made the trespassing and petty theft seem like the worst she had done. She provided no details, and definitely didn’t bring up any of the more serious schemes she had been involved in. She doubted he wanted to hear about pirate ships, underground smuggling rings or any goings on at The Pearl. The last thing she wanted to do was cancel out the respect she was gaining with her honesty.

“Sounds like you’ve quite a varied skill set,” he observed as he poured himself a second cup of cordial.

The commander leaned back in his chair and he took a sip from his cup. Used to his tall frame bent over the table, Nieve wondered if this was the most relaxed she had seen him. It was definitely the longest he’d gone without furrowing his brow, or narrowing his eyes in her presence.

“You pick up a few things,” she shrugged in reply.

A small laugh escaped the commander’s lips as he placed his cup on the desk. He shifted his gaze to Nieve’s face, his lips quirked slightly upwards in the first genuine smile her had given her. His amber eyes were soft as they met hers, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

He _is_ handsome, her inner voice chimed.

Not that she had forgotten that fact, of course. When they had first met she had been floored by how different he had been from her expectations. Since then – though she had heard how lucky she was from his many admirers – he had faded in her esteem as they struggled to get along.

In that moment though, she saw it again.

Aesthetically, yes, she replied in her own head.

After a quiet moment, the commander seemed to return to his usual self. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the desk as his expression returned to one of seriousness.

“Look, I still don’t completely agree with having you here,” he began grimly, “but if Leliana thinks it’s necessary then… what do you need? As your commander, is there anything I can do to help you?”

Nieve thought for a moment. Though she much preferred to discuss work than her personal life, the rapid return to business took her by surprise. For the most part, she had spent her days in Haven going about her own business, but having the commander’s authority behind her would make things run more smoothly.

“Let me help the healers from time to time?” she suggested, “I have some experience in herbalism, and healers get to see things other don’t. Keep letting me run errands, but also give me work that lets me observe. Also, if things are in a certain place before our new allies arrive, they won’t question it.”

“Not much then,” he commented as he reached for a piece of parchment.

Nieve wanted to laugh, but couldn’t discern whether his dry tone came from a place of humour or scorn. When he looked up, she beamed at him in mock innocence.  
  
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said, the smallest of smiles on his lips as he wrote down some notes, “for now you had better get those herbs to Adan.”

She had almost forgotten about the elfroot she had gathered earlier.

“Thank you, Commander.”

Nieve rose from her seat, beyond relieved to not only still have her job, but to finally be on the same page as her boss. She sent a silent prayer to the Maker for her good fortune and turned to leave the tent.

“Agent?”

The Comander’s voice was quiet as he caught her attention. When she turned back to face him he lifted his head from the parchment and fixed her with a stare.

“No more outbursts.”

He didn’t have to speak loudly – and yet the command seemed to carry as much weight as if he had shouted. It wasn’t a polite request this time – it was an order. An order that carried more than a hint of a warning.

Nieve realised that there was no anger in his tone, but under his hard gaze the words hit her like an icy blast. She didn’t know how he did it, but she found herself unable to meet the golden eyes trained on her face. It was only a firm, yet fair, order from her superior – yet for some reason, his words sent a cool shiver across her skin.

Dumbstruck, she simply nodded in understanding before making her way out of the tent.

Well no wonder he’s in charge, she thought as she made her way to the herbalist.

She couldn’t decide whether she was pleased with herself for the outcome of the meeting, or ashamed of shying away like a kicked puppy. It took a while for her to remind herself that learning to obey was part of her new life – no matter how much it went against her instincts.

An image leapt into her mind of the commander, his cheeks tinged with red as his eyes darted back and forth. The memory caused her lips to stretch into a wicked grin.

_If I have to suffer through this, then he can too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long - been a tough couple of weeks. Also these next couple of chapters have been tricky to get onto the page >.< Comments forever welcome <3


	9. Chapter 9

“I can't believe you just… _went hunting_ … with the Herald of Andraste...”

Elise put emphasis on almost every word as she stumbled her way through the question. Nieve giggled at her friend’s wide-eyed expression. It had been a couple of days, but she hadn’t had the chance to talk to Elise about it yet. They sat on the wall by the training yard, their voices low so as not to be overheard by the soldiers nearby.

“Well, I didn’t know he was the Herald at the time,” she replied, “I just thought he was some pretty elf.”

“That’s an understatement,” Elise said to her, “I’ve seen him, Nieve. At the blacksmith, sweating over the forge…”

The scout punctuated her unfinished sentence with a low whistle. Nieve couldn’t help but let out another laugh.

“Scout Cavanan,” Nieve adopted a mocking tone, “And here I thought you only had eyes for the Commander!”

“Well if I’m going to steal him away from you, I need to distract you with something, don’t I? Besides, you need a man who knows how to flirt.”

Though Nieve grinned at her friend, she silently contemplated her words. Firstly, the idea of ‘stealing’ the commander from her was ridiculous, and Elise knew it. It was the butt of most of their jokes that Nieve got to spend so much time with the handsome Templar when Elise was so infatuated with him. The fact that he seemed so resistant to her company only made the situation more amusing.

However, since their altercation and attempt to get to know one another, their relationship had changed slightly. Though he was by no means thrilled to have her around, they now operated with a certain degree of understanding. Nieve hesitated to use the term respect, as he still grumbled his protests to her suggestions, but he was at least listening to her now.

As for the second part of Elise’s statement – Nieve definitely appreciated a good flirtation. There was a keen edge to the Herald’s gaze, and much like herself he was always on the lookout for a clever retort. They had shared a couple of short conversations since their meeting in the woods, mostly when he had business with the commander. His demeanour was always playful, and Nieve didn’t know whether she was sad or relieved that she wasn’t the only one he flirted with.

In fact, the Herald hardly seemed able to interact with anyone without either a wink, a smirk, or some form of innuendo. The man garnered many admiring looks, though his jovial attitude earned him almost as many scrutinising ones. He was operating as a symbol of Andraste herself after all, and not everyone appreciated his humour.

“Nieve!”

Elise brought her back to reality with an urgent whisper, jerking her head towards the training yard. As if the two women had performed some sort of summoning ritual, Nieve recognised the two approaching figures as the Herald and the commander.

“Dreams do come true, Cavanan,” Nieve murmured to her companion, who had no time to reply before the men were in earshot.

Walking side by side, the difference between the two was staggering. He was tall for an elf, but the Herald’s lean frame made him look much smaller next to the commander. That said, the elf walked tall and confident, while his companion hunched his broad shoulders, his gaze directed somewhere off to the left. They were opposites in almost every way, from the colour of their hair, their skin, and even their clothes. The sun reflected off the commander’s polished armour, while the Herald’s indigo leather coat seemed to almost absorb the light.

As they neared, the most obvious difference was that the Herald was smiling, while the commander looked practically sheepish.

“Honestly, Commander, I don’t know how you get anything done with such beautiful distractions around you,” Sylahn announced, winking at Elise before resting his gaze on Nieve.

She grinned back at him, batting away his flattery with a wave of her hand. The commander in question didn’t look too comfortable with the elf’s comment, Nieve noticed his jaw tighten in response.

“Either we’re not much of a distraction, or he’s just very diligent,” she smiled at her boss, not wanting to berate the poor man further.

She was all for teasing him, but she preferred to do it in private. Trying to stay on his good side, she was pretty sure ganging up on him in front of other people would put a strain on their professional relationship.

The Commander rolled his eyes, but there was no anger in his expression. He ran a hand through his hair as he spoke.

“Agent, the Herald has requested your help on a foraging outing,” the commander said, shooting her a knowing look, “you’re excused from duty this afternoon.”

Nieve blinked back her surprise, cocking a questioning eyebrow at the elf.

“I need an expert herbalist to accompany me,” he gave an exaggerated shrug.

Now it was Nieve’s turn to roll her eyes, though she did so with more humour than her superior. As much as she tried to appear nonchalant, the impish glint in the Herald’s eyes brought a smile to her face.

“How could I refuse?” she replied, earning a look of approval from the elf.

She turned to the commander. Though his face remained mostly impassive, the slight raise of his eyebrows told her he was watching them with interest.

“Thank you, Commander. If you have any work for me, I’ll get to it as soon as I return.”

Her tone was formal. She was trying much harder at this ‘respect for rank’ thing, though she often found herself bursting to come out with a witty line instead. The commander seemed to appreciate her effort though, and nodded in response.

“Very good,” he said curtly before turning his head towards Elise, “Cavanan, are you free to run any messages for me while she’s gone?”

Poor Elise, Nieve thought to herself as the girl practically squeaked before replying to the handsome Templar. Watching her friend scramble to maintain her composure was equal parts funny and endearing. Nieve was sure that she would hear all about it later over a drink.

“Bring her back in one piece, Lavellan,” the commander said as they turned to leave.

Nieve detected a slight edge in his voice. Looking back at him, she saw a vastly different man to the one who had approached her a minute ago. He stood straight with his arms folded across his chest, addressing the elf from his full height. The confidence had returned to his face as well, staring directly at Sylahn as he spoke.

It hadn’t escaped Nieve’s notice that he’d dropped the elf’s title either. She didn’t know what had passed between the men before they had approached her, but Nieve got the impression that the commander was less than pleased about it.

“I’ll take good care of her, Commander,” Sylahn replied silkily, “don’t you worry about that.”

As they turned to leave, Nieve saw the commander’s eyes narrow ever so slightly at the Herald’s comment. She shrugged it off. The day he stopped being annoyed at everything would be momentous indeed.

 

* * *

 

 

“So did you forget what elfroot looks like?”

She cocked an eyebrow at Sylahn as they made their way around the lake. After a quick stop for Nieve to fetch her bow, the pair had set off on their ‘foraging mission’.

“It’s the pointy purple one, right?” he grinned back.

“Some elf you are.”

Though she enjoyed his company, Nieve couldn’t help but be a little nervous about being alone with the Herald. They hadn’t spent any real time together since their first meeting, aside from the odd conversation, but that was always around other people. Most of the time their chat was cut short by the commander asking her to run a message or errand, or Sylahn getting pulled away by someone or other.

“I just needed to get away,” he sighed, the jovial tone leaving his voice for a moment.

He paused for a while, speaking again only just when Nieve was about to respond.

“Josephine keep making me talk to nobles,” he explained with a pout.

It was a swift return to humour, but she got the feeling his first answer was an honest one. Deciding not to press him further, she changed the subject.

“So what’s in the bag?” she asked, flicking her gaze towards the pack the elf had slung over his shoulder.

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Sylahn replied with a wink.

As ever, a trademark smirk played on the corner of his lips. Nieve took a deep breath.

 _Oh Maker_.

 

* * *

 

 

She didn’t have to wait long, as they made their way to the pier sticking out over the ice. Sylahn stepped onto it, gesturing for her to do the same. With a raised eyebrow, Nieve obliged, following the elf to the end of the short stretch of wooden planks.

From their vantage point, they could see Haven across the lake, as well as the stone bridge connected the town to the rest of Thedas. As ever, the breach cast a glow across the settlement, giving the ice a green tinge below them.

“Here we are,” Sylahn announced as he sat down on the end of the pier, his back against one of the posts connecting it to the ice, “have a seat.”

Nieve blinked back surprise as she watched him open his pack and search the contents.

“I take it we’re not out to gather herbs?” she asked him.

He grinned as he pulled a bottle from his bag and placed it on the plank beside him.

“Not exactly.”

Nieve shrugged and lowered herself into a sitting position that mirrored his.

The elf pulled out two empty cups, and she took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Why hadn’t he just asked her to the tavern if he wanted a drink? Maybe he wanted to get away from Haven – but the town wasn’t even out of view. That said, she found herself grateful she wasn’t too far away from safety. She had fallen into the trap of being alone with charming men before. Which made her wonder…

“Um, is this…”afraid of being presumptuous, she struggled to find the words, “is this a….”

She couldn’t quite manage the word ‘date’ before the elf cut her off.

“Picnic?” he asked, pulling a bread roll from his back and tossing it to her, “Yes it is.”

The roll bounced off her chest before landing in her lap. She picked it up and found that it was soft. Fresh-baked bread – the good kind. She looked up at him with a grin, which he returned, his emerald eyes holding hers for a few moments.

It wasn’t until he shifted his attention to pouring drinks that she realised he hadn’t answered her question. But then again, she hadn’t exactly asked it properly either. She let it go.

“Didn’t want to drink with the nobles then?” she asked with a hint of a mocking tone.

The elf’s handsome face twisted into a disgusted expression.

“Oh no,” he scoffed, “they’re not my kind of people. Best leave it to Josephine I think.”

Nieve let out a small laugh. She felt exactly the same way. She knew that not all nobles could be bad, but she had a theory that too much money and influence did tend to make people worse.

“Oh come on, you seem to be good at making new friends,” she replied, “You seem to come back with new ones every time.”

“You’ve got to have allies,” he said quietly, with a glance towards the town.

 _Allies_. Interesting, Nieve thought as her eyes roved his face.

But again, it wasn’t long before a smile returned to his lips. She didn’t know if he had brought her here to talk seriously or for a laugh, but the man obviously had a few things on his mind. Nieve didn’t blame him – he was the Herald of Andraste. She understood if he wanted to escape from everything for a while, but... curiosity was in her nature.

Did she want to know who this beautiful elf was, and what he was thinking about?

Absolutely.

“So, Sylahn,” she smiled back at him, “What’s new?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got super long, so I split it into two. Slightly unedited due to how long it's taken to write. Apparently I'm all about that bonding over drinks ;)


	10. Chapter 10

As she was every time they met, Nieve was struck by his handsome features as he spoke. Usually she was trying too hard to look busy and didn’t let herself stare, but now that they were alone she gave in. He had been toying with a wayward lock of his dark hair as he rattled off details about his newest companions. He eventually trailed off, and Nieve watched him tuck it into the tie at the back of his head. For a moment he sat in silence as he gazed across the lake, and her eyes were drawn to the dark lines of his tattoos.

They seemed to be designed to draw attention to all of the elf’s best features. The ink assisted his already dark lashes to bring out the colour in his eyes. From the side, she had a perfect view of the way the line trailed down his angular face to accentuate his already impressive cheekbones. The two sides connected at his forehead, in what Nieve thought looked a bit like a crown. Although she kicked herself for thinking that – as if the man needed an ego boost.

As he turned back to face her, she couldn’t help but take in the way the ink crept up his chin to rest below his bottom lip. Then the corner of his mouth curved into a sly grin – he must have seen her staring. Her eyes snapped up to meet his.

“So, what I want to know about,” he began pointedly, holding her gaze with confidence.

He paused, and Nieve took a deep breath in anticipation. His eyes glittered with mischief as he took a long a sip from his cup.

She waited impatiently for him to finish, silently cursing him for drawing out the wait. And then cursed him again for how much he seemed to be enjoying it.

“It seems you patched things up well enough with our fair Commander,” he commented, still watching Nieve keenly, “you two seem to be almost getting on now.”

She responded with a dry laugh, recalling her anxiety over their argument. In fact, she had almost forgotten how worried she had been – or at least pretended she had. She realised that Sylahn had been the only one to see her in the woods – in that angry, frustrated state. As far as anyone but them and the commander was concerned, the event hadn’t happened. It came as something of a relief that she didn’t have to pretend not to care around Sylahn. He’d already caught her out on that one.

“More or less,” she shrugged, deciding to be honest, “as far as I can tell he doesn’t hate me, which is something. Wouldn’t say he _likes_ having me around though.”

“He likes you enough to give me a stern warning,” the elf grinned.

She couldn’t help but grin back. Instead of being intimidated by the commander, like so many others would be, Sylahn appeared to be nothing more than amused. Was he really so confident, or was it all just a façade?  He’d shown very few signs of vulnerability thus far, and Nieve couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all – something that bothered her no end.

“Oh he’s just a stern warning kind of man, I think,” She remarked, “I think he needs to caution several people a day or he won’t sleep at night.”

Sylahn smiled as he took a gulp from his cup.

“You poor thing,” he laughed, before taking on a thoughtful tone “I _wonder_ what makes him so serious…”

As was often the case with this particular elf, there was something pointed about the way he spoke. It held a mocking edge, as if there was specific answer he wanted to draw from her. She wasn’t sure what he could have in mind, or how much he knew about her superior.

Nieve’s mind immediately went back to the information Leliana had given her. From the sounds of it, the commander had been through more than his fair share of crap in the last decade or so. Any one of the points on that dossier would be a good enough answer to the elf’s question. However, the information had been given to her in confidence, and she wasn’t about to breach any part of her contract.

Unexpectedly, Nieve felt a pang of sympathy for the commander’s situation, and found herself not wanting to breach his personal privacy either.

It’s not unusual to feel protective of the man I’m hired to protect though, she told herself.

She decided she didn’t want to play the Herald’s game, and wouldn’t be coaxed into revealing any information to him.

“I think you had it right the other day,” she commented, brushing things off with a shrug, “those Templar vows must do a number on a man.”

Looking down at his drink, a slow smile spread across the elf’s face. It wasn’t a grin in response to her joke – but the barely concealed triumph of a man all too pleased with himself.

“Now see, that’s not precisely true,” he said softly, flicking his eyes up to meet hers.

“What do you mean?” she replied – a little too quickly.

This only caused him to grin wider. She kicked herself for her eagerness. Of course she wanted the elf to elaborate, but she didn’t want him to think she had personal reasons for her curiosity. It was her job to know about the commander, and she needed to know if there was the possibility of any of his…private matters complicating things. It was professional – nothing more.

“Well, he hasn’t taken any,” Sylahn answered, his eyes trained on her face.

Was this what he wanted her to bring up all along?

Nieve was reminded instantly of the flustered version of Commander Rutherford, and the times she had coaxed a blush to his cheeks. Suddenly that didn’t seem _quite_ as harmless as before. But it was only for fun, and there wasn’t anything behind it, so what did it matter? She pushed the thought from her mind.

“Who told you that?” she asked, after pausing for long enough to seem only vaguely interested.

“He did. I asked him.”

Nieve let out a huff of a laugh in surprise. She thought she had a pretty good imagination, but she couldn’t come up with a situation in which anyone could look the commander in the eye and ask about his sex life. Especially one where they walked away afterwards.

“Why would you do that?” she laughed.

“Didn’t you want to know?” he shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Well, she had been curious…

“How did he take that?” she asked.

“Well, you saw him earlier,” the elf grinned, “he seemed more embarrassed than anything. I think I caught him off guard.”

_Maker… the balls on this elf…_

“Gee, you _think_?” she replied in a mocking tone.

She felt another pang of sympathy for her superior. He had looked very uncomfortable when he had approached her with Sylahn. Chances are he’d played right into the cunning elf’s hands as she had done. He sure knew how to lead a conversation where he wanted it to go. Suddenly she felt ill at ease laughing at the commander.

“Don’t worry,” the elf said, reading her expression, “I’m not announcing it to the entire Inquisition. But as an interested party I thought you’d want to know.”

_Interested party?!_

Her eyebrows flew up at the implication. She may have had some one-sided flirtation with the man but she was by no means looking for anything more. Nieve knew very well the dangers of getting involved with anyone she was working with. Besides, the commander wasn’t even her type.

“You know, because of your job…?” he added.

Sylahn was watching her with interested amusement, a smile playing on his lips as he cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Of course,” she replied with barely concealed relief.

He replied with what Nieve saw as a knowing look, and drained his cup. As she cursed herself for overreacting, she cursed the elf double. He was taking way too much pleasure in her curiosity. He seemed to relish having her on his hook, taking long pauses to watch the impatience on her face. It didn’t help that she took every piece of bait he set for her, even when she thought she was avoiding it.

“Top up?” he asked as he poured himself another drink.

Nieve nodded, and the elf swung around to sit next to her so he could reach her cup, his legs dangling from the end of the pier.

“So, do you like to get under anyone else’s skin, or is the commander your only target?” she asked as he poured.

“Oh all sorts,” he replied, “Chancellors, Seekers, Nightingales… Commander’s Assistants…”

“Very funny,” she replied drily, nudging him with her foot, “but Seeker Pentaghast and Leliana? Did the Andraste give you an extra set of balls?”

That drew a sudden, genuine laugh from the elf.

“Actually, I had such an excellent pair already,” he winked at her, “I like to think it’s one of the reasons she chose me.”

Though his tone was ever jovial, Nieve detected that hint of vulnerability on the underside of the elf’s jokes. Politeness told her to let it slide, but Nieve was a curious sort.

“Were you?” she asked gently, “Chosen, that is?”

Now it was her turn to stare intently at him as she waited for an answer. Hoping she hadn’t overstepped any boundaries, she watched his mouth form a tight line as he gazed across the lake. After a few moments, his jaw softened and his eyes refocused.

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know,” he said softly, not meeting her eyes, “I was certainly given something powerful. And the woman… but, I just don’t remember.”

Viewing his face in profile, she could see the lines of tension forming in his cheeks. Nieve also noticed he was rolling his left hand around in its socket. She couldn’t imagine what it had been like for him to lose his memory of something so important. Though she was intrigued, it didn’t seem right to watch him think about it. She sat up and turned her body so she was sitting next to him, facing the lake together, her legs dangling in the open air next to his.

“I don’t know if I remember the woman or not,” he continued unprompted, “or if it’s just because of what people have told me. As for who she was, your guess is as good as mine. Andraste, Mythal, Andruil, who knows? ”

Nieve felt a wave of compassion wash over her. Though she had no similar experience – who did? – She knew well the agony of wondering something you had no way of finding out. As well as that, from her own past, she knew that finding out can be harder than not knowing. She found herself echoing the words her friend Lodrik had spoken to her a number of years ago.

“Does it matter?” she asked, staring down at the ice as it reflected the green glow of the Breach.

She felt the Herald turn to look at her out of the corner of her eye. She imagined he was giving her a disbelieving stare. It did sound like a ridiculous thing to say. Of course it _mattered_.

“I mean, right now?” she explained, “we don’t know just yet – but we will find out. Why not let it be whatever gives you strength until we do?”

There was a few moments of silence before Nieve gathered the courage to look at him. He looked deep in thought, cradling his left hand in his right, rubbing it gently with his thumb. It was another few moments before he began to nod slowly.

“Hmm, maybe you’re right,” he conceded.

The elf sent her the smallest of smiles, which she returned. She was in new territory by having a serious conversation with Sylahn, but she seemed to be navigating through it.

“Of course it could have been my mother tearing the veil open to make my life more difficult,” he shrugged.

“Would that make you feel more comfortable?” she asked, her tone walking the fine line between seriousness and mocking.

It was a serious subject, and Nieve didn’t want to appear as if she was laughing at him. On the other hand she had figured out that, much like herself, the Herald tended to deflect seriousness with humour. She didn’t want to run the risk of being too inquisitive in case he shut her out.

“She’s been dead a few years now, so it’d be a surprise,” he replied with a sigh before shooting Nieve a wink. “Then again, I wouldn’t put it past her…”

The light smile on his lips told her that he was joking, but she filed the information away in her head anyway. Whether or not he was being serious hadn’t changed the fact that this was the most information he’d revealed about himself since they met. Nieve smiled back, letting her grey-blue eyes linger on the deep green of his.

After a long moment, he broke eye contact and returned his gaze to the landscape, his mouth settling again into a hard line.

“I have to apologise for the mood your commander is going to be in for the next few days,” Sylahn said grimly.

Nieve rolled her eyes, batting away the suggestion with a wave of her hand.

“Oh please, he’ll be over the embarrassment pretty quickly. He’s got an army to run, you know.”

The laugh died on her lips as she noticed the lack of change in his expression. Anxiety flared in her stomach. They had tended to be on the same page so far in terms of humour so far, but the stillness of the elf’s face gave her pause.

“Sylahn…?”

He looked up at the sound of his name, appraising her with a look that she didn’t quite understand. Had she ever said it out loud before?

“Sorry,” she said quickly, “am I allowed to call you that?”

Nieve had tended to jokingly refer to him as ‘elf’, continuing the joke from their first meeting.

“Yes, please do,” he replied, “I just haven’t heard it in a while…”

Around Haven he was mostly referred to as Lord Herald, Herald, or by his clan’s name, Lavellan. It hadn’t crossed Nieve’s mind that his own name might be strange to hear. The thought saddened her, and she decided to use his name more often.

With a heavy sigh, Sylahn leaned back until he was lying flat, his back against the boards of the pier. Nieve glanced at him over her shoulder. He closed his eyes and reached his right arm behind his head for support.

Nieve opened her mouth to ask whether he was comfortable, but he cut her off.

“We’re riding out to Redcliffe tomorrow.”

His eyes remained closed. His face almost serene as he spoke.

Redcliffe. So he was going to ally with the mages. He was right – the commander _would_ be in a bad mood.

“So you’ve chosen then…” she said lamely, trying to wrap her mind around what it would mean for the Inquisition.

When he opened his eyes, the Herald’s gaze was on Nieve.

“Someone had to,” he said softly.

The corner of his lip quirked up slightly for a second, but dropped back almost instantly. Nieve thought maybe he had intended for the statement to carry more humour than it did, but the truth of his words were undeniable.

The vote was split across the Inquisition. From the scouts and soldiers all the way up to the council of leaders, no one could decide one way or the other. That was, until the Herald of Andraste made a decision. There were those that may disagree with his choice, but someone needed to break the deadlock. As she had said to the commander before their argument, Nieve was glad she wasn’t the one making the call.

“Reasons?” she asked simply.

She supported his decision. It was the direction she had hoped things were going, providing the mages were reasonable, but she found herself wanting to know his mind on the matter.

“Elves have always operated without Templars,” he replied, “I wouldn’t know what to expect. Then when you consider that they’re acting out of even Cassandra and Cullen’s knowledge… we can’t make an educated assumption on their goals or motive.”

Nieve found herself dumbly nodding along as he spoke. Instead of sitting half twisted to speak to him, she decided to follow his lead and lie back next to him.

The wood was cold, but strangely soothing as she took in the information he had given her. In the back of her mind she was also aware that Sylahn was telling her his decision before her commanding officer. He finally seemed to be opening up honestly to her, and she was struggling to think of anything to say back.

“And the mages…?” she pressed gently, closing her eyes against the brightness of the sky.

“Mages…” he began slowly, “I understand mages.”

His deep voice was much clearer now that she was lying next to him, and her eyes flew open at the proximity. He hadn’t moved, of course, but something about the closeness had made her jump. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

“I know mages,” he continued, “and I don’t entirely blame them for rebelling. There’s bound to be a few wild cards among their ranks, but there will also be some smart, reasonable people we can work with. The Templars are not acting like Templars, and that’s a worry. At least the mages are acting like mages.”

Nieve couldn’t fault his logic. With her back flat on the pier, she had an unobstructed view of the Breach. It dominated the sky, stretching out to colour the clouds in a sickly green. It terrified her, right down to a place deep inside, but she was getting better at looking at it.

“Besides,” Sylahn added, his voice barely more than a murmur, “do you think the Templars would be able to tell me what this is?”

Nieve turned her head to see him holding his left hand aloft, slowly curling and flexing his long fingers, his palm emitting a faint green glow. She watched him in something of a daze, mesmerised by the movement of his hand against the backdrop of the swirling clouds, her brain trying to process the importance of the information she’d just been given. There was also an element of fear as her eyes remained glued to the magical mark on the elf’s hand. She didn’t know how long the silence stretched on for, but from the corner of her eye she saw him turn his head towards her.

“Is that selfish?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper in her ear.

“No,” she replied after a few moments, “it makes sense, actually.”

She turned her head to face him and realised he wasn’t actually lying as close as his voice had made it seem. Nieve found herself relieved. As attracted as she was to the handsome Herald, she was glad for a nice, calm moment between them. He seemed to have a bubble around him that caused her head to go fuzzy if she got too close. She met his eyes with a smile. The tattoos on his face moved as his lips quirked into a crooked grin.

There didn’t seem to be anything more to say. Sylahn seemed it sense it too, and without a word he go to his feet. Nieve sat up, saddened slightly that the moment had been broken so suddenly.

“Well, we had better get back,” he said cheerfully, “I have a commander to infuriate after all.”

“Hey, I thought that was my job,” she joked, pulling her legs back onto the pier.

“We could be a team,” he laughed, offering his hand to help her up.

She took it, and he pulled her to her feet. As she straightened, she found herself only inches from his face.

“I think we’d do well together.”

His voice dropped into that velvety tone Nieve remembered from their time in the woods. Her stomach tightened. From this distance, she could see the different shades of green in his eyes. The Breach behind him paled in comparison.

 _Oh, I’m in the bubble,_ her inner voice breathed, as dazed as her expression.

It took just a moment for her brain to register her embarrassment at her reaction, and her brain scrambled to recover. She regained her wits and cocked an eyebrow at the Herald.

“When I’m already so good at it?” she quipped, “please, elf. I’ll call on you if I need you.”

She had only taken a second to return to carefree banter, but it seemed Sylahn wasn’t quite finished. Nieve noticed than he still had her hand in his.

“You do that,” he replied slowly, emphasising every word and drawing Nieve’s eyes to his lips.

One long second passed before he released her hand with a chuckle.

“Come on then, Chief Infuriator,” he grinned, scooping up his pack, “there’s Templars to annoy.”

He quickly tossed the remnants of their picnic into the bag and slung it over his shoulder. It was only when he brushed past Nieve on his way along the pier that she managed to unfreeze. She blinked a few times to clear her head, and cursed herself once again for falling for every trap he set for her.

She picked up her bow and followed him, sending another curse his way for making her feel this way. With a quick glance up at the Breach, she also sent a silent prayer to Andraste to protect the elf in the coming days, whether he was her Herald or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me so long! Still trying to work out how to write these fun characters in serious situations... especially when they never want to actually BE serious. Feedback helps immensely ^-^ Let me know what you think <3


	11. Chapter 11

Though she had been warned of her commander’s incoming bad mood, Nieve wasn’t enjoying the experience one bit.

He had left the meeting in a huff, mumbling furiously under his breath as he’d made his way through Haven. Having been given just enough time to prepare, Nieve had arranged to be very busy the afternoon of the council meeting. She had cursed herself for promising to finish her paperwork when she got back, and rushed through it as quickly as possible.

Once the reports were sorted into neat piles on her superior’s desk, Nieve hastily made for the exit. Unfortunately she hadn’t finished her work fast enough, because she collided into his chest as he stormed into the tent.

“Maker!” he exclaimed as he tried to steady her.

Due to them both being in a hurry, she had bounced off his chest plate quite comically. Fortunately he caught her with a hand on her shoulder before she was knocked too far backward, though her head reeled slightly from the collision.

“Oh hey, Commander,” she said casually, rubbing her chin as it throbbed from the impact.

“Agent,” he returned the greeting, “are you hurt?”

_Yes, you walking bloody wall, watch where you’re going!_

“No, Commander,” she replied, “Are you?”

His response was a simple raise of the eyebrows as he looked down at her.

Of course, the tall, heavily-armoured warrior hadn’t sustained any injuries. Had he been in a better mood, Nieve thought he may have been amused by the suggestion. Instead, the look on his face made him appeared almost offended.

“Alright, so I can see that you’re fine,” she chattered, “I err, finished the paperwork and was just heading to help Mother Giselle in the infirmary…”

A look of confusion flashed across his face, but was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“Of course,” he replied, walking past her towards his desk, “I’d forgotten about that.”

 _Yes, I_ know _you don’t think I’m important, thanks for the reminder…_

Nieve knew there was no way he had actually forgotten. He was way too experienced a leader to forget. So why did he seem so intent on dismissing her efforts? She knew the answer, of course. The time she’d prove her worth would come, and she hoped it would be soon.

As usual, he collapsed into his chair with a sigh. He paused for only a fraction on a second before leaning forward and resting his elbows on the wood. Nieve had taken but one step towards the exit when he spoke.

“Before you go,” he began, stopping her in her tracks.

She kicked herself for not being faster with her paperwork. Nieve turned to face him, a look of innocent interest plastered on her face. It would not go down well if he realised that she knew what he was about to say.

“The Herald has decided to enter negotiations with the mages. Preparations for new arrivals need to be completed as soon as possible.”

His tone was all business, but with his tired gaze and hunched shoulders, the commander couldn’t hide his deflation. Nieve understood why – he had been so set on allying with the Templars. An alliance with the mages would almost certainly dash those hopes.

“If there’s anything I can help with, Commander, let me know.”

It was a standard offer, and a bit meaningless seeing as it was literally her job… but Nieve felt compelled to say it anyway. Her commander may be and ass, but he wasn’t a bad man. Besides, a little kindness given may one day be returned, as her mother always said.

Looking up, he rested his eyes on hers for the shortest of moments. He gave a curt nod before picking up his quill, dropping his chin and starting to scratch away on a fresh piece of parchment.

It took a few seconds of staring at the tousled locks of his dipped head to realise that she’d been dismissed. No thank you, no nothing. Not even an empty pleasantry to acknowledge her offer. As if she could forget that he thought she was useless.

_Stuck up ass._

Maybe there wasn’t any point in trying to be nice, she thought as she turned and strode out of the tent. She deliberately let the flap fall closed behind her, knowing that the commander always kept it partially open.

With full awareness of how petty it was, Nieve relished the idea of him sitting there being irritated by it, or hauling himself out of his chair to fix the problem. It wasn’t the greatest revenge she’d ever gotten, at least it made her feel better.

 

* * *

 

Mother Giselle was glad to have the help, overseeing the infirmary as Nieve arrived. She was a pious woman, but believed strongly in action. The Maker could not fix every problem for them, and Mother Giselle was not afraid to help others on his behalf.

Although she was often wary of Chantry representatives, Nieve was somewhat in awe of the older woman’s commitment to her cause. Leliana had told her of Giselle’s endeavours in Orlais, as well as in the Hinterlands of Ferelden. Nieve had seen the dark side of poverty, and it was a relief to know that the Chantry was interested in saving bodies as well as souls.

Plus she hadn’t gotten too preachy towards Nieve yet, so that was a bonus.

As Nieve wasn’t an actual healer, she was mainly tasked with looking after recovering patients. There were always meals to run, bandages to change, and medicine to distribute. In the back of her mind, Nieve noted that things would become easier from a medical standpoint when the mages arrived. Magic couldn’t cure everything – but it sure helped.

She decided not to share that piece of optimism with her commander just yet.

She moved around the infirmary, doing what she could to make the patients more comfortable. Though some of them were too weak to talk, for the most part the patients were happy to have the company. That made them talkative, which helped Nieve’s cause immensely. Gathering information was always easier when people gave it straight to you, she found.

“Yer a lifesaver, lass.”

A gruff voice greeted her as she approached a bandaged red-headed man, struggling to sit up in his cot. He was shirtless, though his wound dressings covered most of his arms and torso. He had a blanket draped around his broad shoulders to keep the worst of the cold out – it seemed that being clothed was more trouble than it was worth with his injuries. He grinned at her from behind his scruffy beard, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did so.

“Oh I think the healers did most of the life-saving,” she grinned back, sitting on a stool by the bed and offering him the bowl of soup she was carrying, “can you eat?”

“Thank you, lass, I’m not that far gone though,” he chuckled, his hands dwarfing the bowl as he took it from her.

His accent was familiar, but didn’t pin him to one place, she thought as she handed him the bowl. Ferelden? Perhaps a Marcher. That said, many of the Ferelden citizens who fled the Blight had spent time in the Free Marches.

She hadn’t seen him in the infirmary before, though she had only helped out a couple of times so far. From the extensive bandaging on his torso and arms, she figured his wounds had been extensive. He seemed to be lifting the spoon tenderly from the bowl, in awkward movements that indicated it was not his dominant hand.

“Do you need anything?” she asked, putting as much kindness into her smile as she could muster.

“I’d kill for some ale,” he replied in between sips, “though they tell me it’s a bad idea at the moment.”

“In my experience, ale is pretty much always a bad idea,” she responded with a wink.

He looked up with a lopsided grin, his bright blue eyes catching hers.

“Sounds to me like you’re just not doing it right,” he joked.

They shared a smile, and Nieve wrinkled her nose in mock offense.

“Well maybe when you get better you’ll have the show the Inquisition how it’s done,” she laughed.

Her word choice was careful. She had been about to say ‘show me how it’s done’, but changed her mind halfway through. Referring to the Inquisition as a whole made it seem a lot less suggestive. The last thing she wanted was the commander finding out she was flirting with the first man she saw – that wouldn’t help her credibility at all.

That said, the man in front of her wasn’t unattractive, perhaps in a different time and place Nieve would have been all for a bit of flirting. He was looking a little rough though. His skin was pallid, and he was sporting an unkempt beard and messy, shoulder-length hair. His red locks had been tied back at some point, but most of the left side had come loose, giving him a ragged, lopsided look. But even in his condition, he seemed quick to smile, which Nieve always valued in a person.

“My name’s Nieve, by the way,” she said, “I’m kind of new to the infirmary, but I’m helping out where I can.”

A handshake was out of the question due to the man’s injuries, so Nieve settled for twinkling her fingers in a small wave.

“Torvin,” he replied, dipping his head in the slightest of bows.

There was a moment of silence that hung in the air as he took another awkward spoonful of soup. Nieve almost wanted to offer to help him, but she got the sense the man would rather struggle on his own than accept it.

“You seem to have taken some nasty wounds there, Torvin,” she commented.

She wanted to ask what had happened, but didn’t want the man to shut down. Serious wounds often came with painful memories – and men were usually not too eager to talk about their failures.

Thankfully, the redhead didn’t seem to mind, and answered her anyway.

“We’re based up by the temple, keeping an eye on the area,” he explained. “Our patrol was attacked in camp by a pack of wolves. The rest of the men got off with a few scratches, but I got the worst of it.”

Wolves? Nieve wasn’t an expert on wildlife, but unless a human was out on their own, wolves tended to leave them alone. Their instincts warned them against attacking groups, especially when they were carrying torches or around a campfire.

Torvin recognised the confusion on her face.

“There’s some weird shit going on up there, lass. They were wild, attacking like we were threatening their pups. That Breach has got a lot to answer for.”

“You think it’s the Breach?” she asked.

He fixed her with a look.

“It has to be. They’ve gone _mad_. Entire packs of wolves don’t just attack like that in the mountains,” he said, before twisting his mouth into a wry smile. “Unless they’ve got a personal vendetta.”

“Well what did you _do_ to them?” Nieve joked, trying to keep the mood light.

The warrior sighed and closed his eyes, a smile frozen on his face. He let the depleted soup bowl rest in his lap as he leaned back against his pillows.

“We tried to tell them, you know,” he said, ignoring Nieve’s question. His voice was gruff despite his serene expression. “That the animals were dangerous. But apparently if it isn’t demons, the commander isn’t interested.”

Nieve tensed at his mention of the commander. Was Torvin saying this because he knew who she was? His tone lacked the pointedness of an accusation though, and the sigh that accompanied it was more fed up than angry. That said, most of the commander’s men knew who she was by this point, especially those based in Haven.

“Do you come down to Haven often?” she asked, “I haven’t seen you around before.”

Torvin adjusted the blanket around his shoulders, his eyes remaining closed as he replied.

“Not if I can help it. We send some of the lads back for supplies and messages, but I like to stay in the mountains. The less Chantry politics I have to deal with, the better.”

Well, I can’t fault his logic there, she thought to herself. It also meant it was entirely possible that he had no idea who she was.

She cast her mind back through the reports she’d read through in the command tent. Torvin’s words rang a bell in her head, though she was struggling to remember exactly what was written. The commander had received stacks of reports on fade rifts, bandits, rogue mages _and_ Templars… not to mention dragon sightings in the Hinterlands and Storm Coast. Mountain wildlife didn’t seem to be much of a threat compared to all of that.

On the other hand, she was looking directly at a seriously wounded warrior – and he didn’t look like a pushover either.

“What would you have changed, if you were him?” she asked gently.

She couldn’t turn back time, but she could try and remedy some of the mistakes that had been made. It also wasn’t necessarily the commander’s fault – she had been the one to prioritise some of the incoming reports for him.

Torvin opened his eyes, giving Nieve an appraising look. Her head was tilted slightly to one side, and she put just the right amount of eagerness into her gaze. The goal was to be the picture of innocent curiosity, so he wouldn’t hold back information due to her position.

He paused for a moment, chewing his lip in a thoughtful expression.

“There’s a few huts along the river,” he said finally, “for hunting and fishing, mainly. We use them if there’s a blizzard, but they’re in the valleys – worthless from a scouting standpoint. If we camp at a vantage point, our tents provide no protection from the beasts.”

Nieve nodded along as he spoke. They couldn’t shelter from the weather and animal attacks without giving up their position of surveillance around the temple. Their tents would keep out the worst of the weather, but left them vulnerable to rabid beasts.

“We’re not useless, mind. We can protect ourselves from the odd aggressive animal we cross paths with. I’ve been doing _that_ all my life,” he continued. “But mad bears, or entire packs of bloodthirsty wolves? It’s a new kind of survival.”

She hadn’t found a point to disagree with him yet. From the way he spoke about it, it definitely sounded like something supernatural was going on. She hadn’t had to deal with them in Denerim, but bears and wolves were common around Lothering, and generally had much more survival sense than to attack armed groups of humans. Unless, of course, they were threatened. But a stationary camp didn’t often pose a threat unless it was right near their home.

“If we had a couple of watchtowers – they wouldn’t even have to be big – we’d solve a lot of problems. Not just the weather and the beasts, but we could store supplies so we wouldn’t have to send the lads off on their own as often.”

_Watchtowers? The commander’s going to love that._

She suppressed a humourless snort. The situation wasn’t funny, but the commander’s reaction would be. She felt for the man in front of her though. The warrior spoke sense, but it was a matter of resource allocation. The Inquisition was being inundated with requests to scout, build, protect, feed, fight and generally assist from all corners of the country. The Temple of Sacred Ashes was the catalyst of the conflict, but since the Herald had stopped the demons coming from the rift, things had been quiet around Haven.

It was a difficult one. Once Sylahn returned with the mages, the Breach would be sealed for good. So everyone hoped, anyway. Watchtowers might prove to be more or less useless after that. However, as her eyes raked over Torvin’s bandages, she thought about how dangerous it must be for their men. He said he had gotten the worst of it, but if their patrol was even half as injured… Nieve couldn’t help but feel a ripple of guilt roll through her stomach.

“I’m sure this incident will prove that the mountain needs attention,” she said in what she hoped was a reassuring tone.

Torvin nodded slowly.

“We got some nice furs out of it and all, though we decided against eating the meat. At least we’re all still in one piece,” he said, before glancing down at himself with a sigh. “Mostly.”

“Well you’re certainly eating well,” she smiled at him, taking the empty bowl from his lap and placing it on the side table, “that’s always a good sign.”

The smile returned to the wounded warrior’s face.

“Aye, thanks for bringing it to me, lass,” he replied.

She found herself already growing fond of the man. He was rough around the edges, but seemed to have a good head on his broad shoulders. She felt a pang of longing for her friend Lodrik, although she couldn’t put her finger on why. Torvin was about three times the size, knew how to smile, and seemed to always remember his manners. But still she missed her grumpy dwarven companion.

“Agent Thorne?”

A voice cut through her thoughts. She turned to see a young soldier standing behind her. She recognised him as one of the commander’s trainees. He was a skinny, dark-haired lad, and by Nieve’s estimate he was either in his teens or not far out of them. She shifted in her stool to face him, awaiting the message he was clearly there to deliver.

“That’s me,” she replied simply, beaming at him.

“Err, well, the commander said he wants to see you,” he stuttered, his eyes dropping to his boots.

 _Well he never_ wants _to see me._

“Of course he does,” she replied with a sigh, absolutely certain that those weren’t the words her superior used.

The recruit blinked and shifted his eyes, evidently taken aback by her casual manner. She almost felt bad – the commander really drilled the discipline into them.

“I assume he’s in the command tent…?” she prompted him to continue.

“Oh, yes, he is. Sorry. He said something about duty rosters as well, if that helps,” he stumbled through his message.

Nieve couldn’t see any reason for him to be nervous around her. Perhaps the commander was still in a mood. If the recruit got on the end of that, poor lad, she thought.

“Thank you,” she smiled gently, trying to put him at ease. “It’s Redford, isn’t it?”

The recruit looked up in surprise. He obviously hadn’t expected her to know who he was. Unfortunately, she recognised him from the training yard, and his was a name that had been heard there a lot. The lad was often on the end of the commander’s rather audible corrections.

“Err, yes, that’s me,” he replied, attempting to mimic Nieve’s cheerful response.

It didn’t quite come through, but she grinned at him all the same.

“Relax, recruit,” she said gently, “now tell me, what’s the commander’s mood like? I need to know what I’m walking into here.”

Redford did relax, but almost imperceptibly.

“He told me it’d be latrine duty for another week if I didn’t hurry,” he admitted.

“That sounds about right,” she sighed, before adding “ _another_ week?”

He dropped his gaze again, chewing his lip before answering.

“I haven’t been doing too well in training, err,” he trailed off, unsure of what to call her, which was fair seeing as she barely had a real position. “I think he’s um, motivating me.”

Nieve felt a wave of pity for the fidgeting recruit in front of her. She was often on the end of the commander’s critical eye, but unlike the lad, she didn’t care if he approved of her.

“Hey look,” she caught his gaze, “you promise me to focus on your training, and I’ll see what I can do to get you something a little more pleasant. Sound good?”

His eyes widened at the prospect. It was as if she had offered him lands and titles, rather than a week off latrine duty. Poor lad, she thought once again.

“That would be… wow, I mean, if you can,” he rambled, “I’ll really try my hardest!”

“Alright, done,” she replied, struggling to suppress a laugh. “Now run along, Redford, and thanks for the message.”

He couldn’t seem to believe his luck. In his excited haste, the skinny recruit even saluted her as a superior before scrambling out of the infirmary. Once he’d gone, Nieve finally allowed a soft laugh to escape her lips, shaking her head at his antics.

It wasn’t her call to make, but realistically the commander was too busy to really care about which recruit ended up doing what. As long as the jobs were done, it mattered very little to him. In fact, Nieve wasn’t sure why he didn’t have one of his lieutenants sorting it all out. He liked to keep an eye on the day to day operations, but the man really needed to learn to delegate.

Lucky I’m here to write them up and distribute them for him, she thought, her internal voice dry. It was really not the most effective use of her talents, but at least she was proving useful.

“Think you’ve got yourself a fan there, lass.”

Torvin’s voice almost made her jump. She turned back to the burly redhead with a smile.

“I think he’s sweet,” she laughed.

She stood up, stretching and shaking the feeling back into her legs. The small wooden stool was even less comfortable than her one in the command tent.

“Work closely with the commander then?” Torvin inquired in a mock-casual tone.

“Closer than either of us would like, I think,” she replied, hoping the humour would gloss over the fact that she hadn’t mentioned it earlier.

I see how Sylahn felt now, she mused. She had been angry with him for not telling her who he was, though it hadn’t lasted long.

Thankfully, Torvin was even quicker to forgive than she had been.

“Aye, I’ve had me some bosses like that,” he nodded.

His temperament definitely didn’t match his red hair. Nieve’s was only a red-tinged brown and she matched the stereotype far better than he did.

She grinned at him as she picked up the soup bowl from the side table.

“It was nice to meet you, Torvin,” she said, “I’ll see what I can do about that ale.”

That earned a quiet chuckle from him.

“Careful with that kindness, lass.”

She simply winked at him before turning away and making her past the rows of cots. She was able to hand the soup bowl off to one of the healers, and wandered out into the snow. As much as she wanted to take her time, the air was freezing without the warmth of the now setting sun.

It was all she could do to stop herself grumbling as she pulled her jacket tighter around herself and set off for the command tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me a while! Broken arm and procrastination will do that. Transitional chapters are tricky, but at least it's a long chapter :) Thank you for all your lovely comments, they make me so happy! Keep them rolling in, I love hearing what you all think, especially about my OCs <3


	12. Chapter 12

It had taken a while, but the commander eventually got used to the idea of an alliance with the mages. The Herald was in the Hinterlands, and Haven was preparing for an influx of new allies.

Nieve found herself busier than ever. Coordinating the expansion of the Inquisition’s camp required a lot more correspondence between its inhabitants. The amount of messages she was running between the three council leaders was enough to keep her occupied, and Nieve was trying to use work in the infirmary as a sanctuary from the chaos. Not that it was the most joyful or serene place – but at least the patients were at least grateful for her assistance.

Everyone was under pressure, and it was even beginning to show on Leliana’s face when the two of them were behind closed doors. Their current meeting was in the war room at the back of the chantry, where Nieve was ‘delivering messages from the commander’ – which was at least _mostly_ true.

The pair were leaned casually against the huge table, in what would appear to be a much more mundane conversation than it was, should anyone come barging in.

“There have been only a few incidents, but the beasts have been dispatched quickly,” the Nightingale spoke softly. “They are staying alert, and no one else has been injured.”

Nieve breathed a sigh of relief. Leliana had been in touch with her people in the mountains around Haven. There were reports of strange animal activity, but only those closest to the Breach had seen the kind of outright aggression that the patrol force had encountered.

Nieve had done her own investigation, looking through the reports that had come from the mountain patrols. There _had_ been accounts of animal attacks, but for the there was little to nothing to suggest they weren’t manageable. They described the odd few animals acting aggressively, and as more of an annoyance than a threat to the lives of well-trained, well-armed soldiers.

Nieve couldn’t decide whether to feel guilty or absolved by her findings. The Inquisition’s resources had been stretched thin, but they were not powerless to help. There had been suggestions that attacks were getting more prevalent, but nothing like the entire pack that put Torvin in the infirmary.

“Is Torvin recovering well?” Leliana inquired, reading Nieve’s thoughts as usual.

Nieve had spent a fair amount of time with the wounded warrior of late, favouring him over some of the more difficult patients in the infirmary. Partly because she was growing fond of the man, but also seeing his wounds played on her conscience, and she was determined to help him recover.

“He’s getting there,” Nieve replied with a smile. “He’s in good spirits, but by all accounts his wounds _did_ nearly kill him.”

A shadow of tension crept into the Nightingale’s soft features. Though it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, Nieve noticed it all the same. Though she was constantly trying to hide it, Leliana cared about her people. And if something could happen to a warrior like Torvin, it could definitely happen to one of her scouts.

 “Well, _by all accounts_ that would have been quite a loss,” Leliana said deliberately, eyeing Nieve with interest, “they say he saved the lives of most of the patrol that day.”

Nieve met her friend’s level stare with one of her own, quirking an eyebrow in mock interest. She knew where this was going, having faced the same line of questioning when she had befriended the Herald. She might have been a little too adamant when she said she wasn’t interested in finding a man in the Inquisition, and the Nightingale had picked up on it right away. This was a little different though – Leliana hadn’t tried to talk up Sylahn’s achievements, despite the fact that they dwarfed Torvin’s.

The two women held each other’s eyes for a few moments before a smile came to both of their lips. Nieve tried not to feel too triumphant in catching her friend out in her game – the Inquisition’s spymaster wasn’t hiding her cards on the subject. Finally, with a sigh, Leliana plucked a couple of pieces of parchment off the war table beside her.

“We were right about the baker’s wife,” she said, reading from the first page, “she’s certainly informing, though the identity of her employer is still unknown.”

Nieve gave the slightest of nods. It was one of the most obvious things to ever come out of the Nightingale’s mouth. The citizens of Haven were none too pleased with the occupation of their home, and though Lady Montilyet had done her best to placate them, they weren’t exactly benefiting from the Inquisition’s presence. Selling information to interested parties wasn’t a silly move, in Nieve’s opinion. It was just common people making the best out of a bad situation, and she could sympathise with that.

Well, it _wouldn’t_ have been silly if she had been subtle about it, Nieve thought to herself. It was almost comical how suddenly the baker’s wife had decided she needed to personally distribute the goods around the village. She had begun to chat to everyone, hand-delivering cakes to important figures – most notably directly to the ambassador’s office – as a token of thanks for their hard work. What had clinched it for Nieve though, was her sudden purchases of quality food and clothing.

Nieve had been walking behind her, her interest piqued, and spotted the fine leatherwork on the woman’s boots as she made her way up the stone steps. A quick word with the merchant had revealed that she had made several other purchases recently. It had been enough for Leliana to order someone to shadow her.

“Your thoughts, Agent?”

The playful tone was apparent in her voice, as well as her word choice. She also knew that they were alone, and she could have just used Nieve’s name. And there was no question that the spymaster knew exactly how to proceed, and didn’t need any input from her subordinate.

“Check the merchant’s records,” Nieve replied, “if we can track when the spending started, and which dignitaries had envoys in Haven at the time.”

Leliana was all business as she nodded along to the response, her keen gaze on Nieve’s face.

“And to what end do we this?” she prompted.

“To find out whose interests we’re dealing with,” Nieve answered confidently, “so we know what information to keep close, and what we can ‘let slip’ in front of the baker and his wife.”

The sister’s eyes sparkled as a smile made its way to her lips. It was basic stuff, but Nieve still felt a sense of pride – and relief – at passing the spymaster’s test. She couldn’t help but grin back at her old friend. There was little time for idle chat though, and Leliana moved the conversation on swiftly.

“How fairs our commander?”

If it had been anyone else asking, Nieve would have stifled the sigh before it left her lungs. But with Leliana there was nothing to hide, or any appearance to maintain. She took the time to exhale a long breath, her eyes locked on Leliana’s with a knowing look. The Nightingale smiled gently at her friend. It wasn’t the first time one of Nieve’s reports had begun with a noise of frustration.

“He’s still not happy with the Herald’s decision,” Nieve finally answered, “but he’s much more accepting now that things are underway. He doesn’t actually have the time to kick up a fuss. Why he tries to do everything himself, I’ll never know…”

Leliana nodded sagely, as aware as Nieve was about the commander’s work ethic. Nieve didn’t know if it was the Templar thing, or if it was just him being thorough, but he had been analysing every detail of Haven’s preparations.

It hadn’t been the smoothest process. The three leaders didn’t always seem to agree, and there were areas in which their duties overlapped. The commander seemed to require near constant status reports on how things were progressing, and Nieve was getting shorter and shorter replies from Leliana and Lady Montilyet. That wasn’t to say they weren’t grateful – his hard work left them more time to focus on their own duties, and they had no doubt that things would be finished by the time the mages arrived.

“But nothing to report on the safety side of things,” she continued. “Everyone seems to be giving him a wide berth at the moment. Except Varric of course, though I’m not sure how the commander feels about that.”

The dwarf had made a few attempts to get the commander to take a break and lighten up, with limited success. Nieve had managed to avoid him thus far – she had no desire to be a character in one of his stories – but she was grateful for his efforts. Despite her strained relationship with her superior, she was glad he had someone to pull him out of his work bubble for a while.

“Well we’ll just have to stay vigilant,” Leliana said, pushing herself from the table.

Nieve stood up too, though her legs protested. She had been enjoying the break from rushing around, as well as solace from Haven’s tense atmosphere.

“One more thing,” the spymaster said as she plucked an envelope from the table. “You have a letter.”

Nieve cocked an eyebrow as she took it from the sister’s hand. She lowered it immediately when she recognised the script on the front.

“His writing is _much_ tidier than yours.”

Nieve rolled her eyes at her friend’s mocking tone as she tucked the letter away in her jacket. It was still sealed, she noticed.

“He wrote you too?” she asked.

“I still need eyes in Denerim,” Leliana said, “and with you here, Lodrik is the next best thing.”

“With better handwriting,” Nieve added.

A rare grin spread across the Nightingale’s delicate features as she led Nieve to the door.

“As I said,” she replied, her melodic voice bordering on smugness, “ _much_ tidier.”

+++++++

She found the command tent empty when she arrived, much to her relief. Lowering herself onto the stool she had become so accustomed to, she pulled the envelope from her jacket, eager to see what her friend had to say.

By the first line, she already had a grin on her face.

_You owe me twenty coppers, Thorne._

_Everything’s fine here, bit quieter without you. Called in on your aunt the other day, she’s doing well. The cobbler sends her kid round to help her out, and says she’s healthy and lucid for the most part. Still thinks we’re married by the way, asked if our kids would come out with their faces marked like mine. Didn’t quite know what to say to that. Suggested she write you._

_The lad at the Gnawed Noble finally stopped asking after you. Probably realised he’d have more chance with the Empress of Orlais. Rumour is he was chatting up some other lass the other night though._

_The roof sprung a leak again. Right above your desk – the older books are safe but some of the newer ones are soaked beyond repair. The roof is fixed and I’ll replace what I can, but you might have to buy some new copies when you get back. Sorry, Thorne._

_I’ll write again when there’s news. Stay warm, eat well, and don’t get yourself swallowed by the sky._  
  
Hope you’re having fun,

_Lod_

Nieve felt a wave of homesickness wash over her. She had entertained the idea of giving up and heading home numerous times, though that had always been in response to things not going her way with the Inquisition. Lod was all business, as usual, and she missed him more than anything.

The letter seemed innocent enough to the untrained eye, but Nieve immediately began deciphering its contents. Her informant at the Gnawed Noble Tavern in the Market District had been picked up by someone else – not surprising, he was _very_ easy to get information out of. Nieve knew she wasn’t the only one he spoke to.

As for the remainder of the message – to Nieve’s knowledge, the roof had never leaked in their office, let alone above her desk. So something had happened that was work-related, she mused, and there was irreparable damage. A leak of information, then?

Nieve kept books on a shelf, not her desk, so it was likely that the ‘books’ represented people. When Nieve left, they had been gathering intelligence in order to facilitate a rift between two noble houses. They had made a lot of new contacts through the venture, but if word got out, Nieve would expect casualties. They had been careful, as always, to hide their involvement in the plot, so she was confident that they were safe. Knowing Lod, he would have added something to his metaphor about a damaged desk or floor if they weren’t. Grumpy as he was, he could be quite poetic.

Nieve’s best guess was that at least part of that job had gone south, and the contacts she had made were gone. Her long-standing working relationships would continue, but Lod was working to replace anything that was lost. Had it not been for the Inquisition, Nieve would have been bothered by the setback, but all she had to do was think of the Breach, and the reputation of a few nobles seemed so tiny in comparison.

Though the letter didn’t sound it, Lod’s message was short and sweet. Without the business side of things, it basically said he hadn’t forgotten their bet, her aunt’s health was fine, and to keep safe. She couldn’t help but smile, thinking about how the dwarf genuinely _did_ care.

One message in particular stuck out to her though. Lodrik had written “hope you’re having fun” – and Nieve prided herself on being able to find the fun in most situations. She felt almost guilty that she had been so miserable over the last few days.

As the tent flap opened and the commander swept into the room in a flurry of snow, and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

_It seemed any fun would have to wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holiday Period Hiatus should be mostly over, but don't hold me to that. Here's a chapter while I work on some more character developmenty stuff <3


	13. Chapter 13

There had been reports of some resistance, but an agreement had been reached, and the Herald was returning with their new allies. The Mage Rebellion was joining forces with the Inquisition.

They had been told it was a mutual agreement, and the members of the Inquisition were to share their home with the rebel mages as equals. There had been suggestions of forcing the mages into co-operating, but the Herald had solved things amicably. Nieve had suspected he might, as not only was he clever with words, but he had selected a party that favoured negotiation.

He had taken Lady Cassandra, a Seeker in the Templar Order, not to mention ‘Right Hand if the Divine’. Though a Templar may not have been exactly welcome, she held the most authority in the Inquisition when it came to speaking on behalf of the order. And to faithful Andrastians, her presence legitimised his title of Herald of Andraste – something an elf alone could not claim.

Alongside the Seeker and her impressive list of titles, deeds and influences, Sylahn had taken an apostate mage. Solas was the opposite of Cassandra, and therefore everything that the mages may find familiar. Seeing the two side by side could inspire hope that the two forces could work together.

Finally, Sylahn had requested the company of Blackwall, a Grey Warden. It had been ten years since the last Blight, but many in Ferelden remembered its horrors. The story of the Hero of Ferelden was known throughout Thedas, and with it a tale of the Ancient Treaties, and of unity against evil.

Though he would never admit to their careful selection, Sylahn’s choice of companions would have painted a clear picture during negotiations. Two humans, two elves, all with different backgrounds – all willing to fight and close the Breach. Nieve’s appreciation of Sylahn’s diplomacy was interrupted by the tent flap being pulled back.  
  
She had been about to start eating her lunch over the duty rosters when the Commander entered, clutching a creased piece of parchment. Without a word he strode over to his desk and hastily began leafing through the documents piled on its surface. She had stopped being bothered by the commander’s lack of greetings – they were both back and forth so often during the day that it hardly seemed to matter.

Glancing up, she noticed his brow was more furrowed than usual, and his usual annoyed expression had been replaced with apprehension. A faint noise, halfway between a sigh and a growl, rose from his throat as he searched – and clearly failed to find – what he was looking for.

It wasn’t surprising. The documents were out of any order due to a rather mischievous gust of wind earlier in the day. Nieve had been spending her time cursing the Commander’s damned open tent flap habit, so she hadn’t gotten around to sorting through them yet. With an inward sigh, she steeled herself before opening her mouth.

“Commander?” she kept her voice soft. “Can I help?”

His jaw tensed, and his eyes flicked her way for a fraction of a second before returning to the sheets in front of him.

“The sheet of orders… the supplies and accommodation requirements for our new allies,” he said.

Despite his frustration, the last two words held less bitterness than they had a few days ago.

“Millen’s questioning it,” he muttered, “says the numbers on the sheet don’t add up. If they don’t, I need to find out where the error is.”

Nieve was already rising from her seat as he spoke. It was vital they had the infrastructure to cater for their new arrivals, and the Commander had the task of getting things ready. The shelf that ran along the wall was stacked haphazardly with various documents, all as much victims of the wind as the ones on the desk.

“Who did the calculations?” she asked casually, piling parchment into the crook of her arm.

“I did,” came the flat reply.

She knew the answer, of course. But it didn’t hurt to put him on the back foot before revealing her own piece of incompetence for the day.

“Well, it’s probably one of _these_ ,” she announced as she showed him the mass of paper.

He arched a questioning eyebrow at her.

“Apparently the wind decided we needed a new filing system,” she said with a wry grin, “I was going to sort through them after lunch and copying the duty rosters, but…”

Nieve trailed off, as the commander was already holding out his hand, beckoning her to pass him the pile in her arms. She sat down and split the pile in two, handing the top half to the commander and setting the other in front of herself.

He gave her a slight nod and began thumbing through the pages. Nieve bent her head and did the same, flicking her eyes up to take in the commander’s expression, but not lingering for long enough to attract his attention.

In her time working with him, she had seen him frustrated and stressed more times than she could count. She’d seen him exhausted, though he tried to conceal it. She’d seen him angry, and even been the cause of it. But, looking at him now, she wondered if she’d ever seen him like this.

Focusing on leafing through paper, she considered his usual demeanour. When he was agitated, he usually grumbled and huffed, letting her know his frustrations. Right now… he was quiet. Holding back his words and restraining his actions, he had barely blinked at her disaster with the paperwork.

He was _worried_. Which Nieve thought made complete sense considering the situation. Except… he was hiding it like he did his fatigue. His pride would be on the line if he’d made a mistake, though anyone could make a calculation error. Everyone knew how hard he worked… perhaps this was about something else?

She took a longer moment to study his face. His jaw was clenched, casting dark shadows across his cheeks. Nieve was almost certain the commander had lost weight since they met. Underneath his fair stubble, here was a gauntness to his face that she hadn’t noticed before.

The commander reached the bottom of his pile, dropping it onto the table with a barely concealed sigh. As if he had read her mind, he lifted a hand to grasp his jaw, working the tension from it as his fingers dragged across his growing beard.

Quickly flicking her gaze back down to her task, Nieve swiftly located the page in question. Instead of handing it to him, she decided to try something.

“Would you… like me to double check the numbers?” she asked gently as she slid the page out and onto the top of the stack.

There was a pause, and her eyes back on him.

“That… might be best,” he conceded, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes.

Interesting, she thought to herself. If it was merely his pride, the commander might have insisted on running through the numbers himself. Mistakes were embarrassing, and why let someone else know about it? Letting her to check his calculations said only one thing to Nieve – self-doubt.

_Well that’s the last thing we need._

She suppressed a sigh and raked her eyes over the information on the page. It was a consolidated list of the factors involved in setting up accommodation for the mages, including the numbers provided from the Herald, Lady Montilyet, and Millen, who was in charge of the building team making physical changes to the camp. Supplies, housing, and facilities needed to be sufficient to hold the mages comfortably.

Picking up a scrap of paper to mark her numbers on, Nieve noticed the commander staring intently at her work. No stranger to perfectionism herself, she felt a prickle of compassion for him. He had been pushing himself to the limit lately.

“Here,” she said, her eyes focused on her work as she nudged her lunch tray towards him. “You should take this time to get some food in you.”

Nieve looked up to see him regarding her with a look of concern, different to the one he’d been wearing since he walked in. He seemed to consider it for a second before replying.

“No, I couldn’t. I can’t just take the lunch of my…” he trailed off.

_Spy._

She stopped herself from laughing out loud, but couldn’t keep the amused grin from her face as she continued to work. He still hadn’t quite figured out how to refer to her position. Publicly of course, she was his assistant, but when it was just the two of them, he never managed to put it into words.

“It’s bread and soup, Commander,” she sighed. “You won’t catch espionage.”

With her focus trained on the paper in front of her, she almost jumped when a small puff of exhausted laughter left his lips.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly.

He was nothing if not proper, she mused. It was new territory for them. If he was to stoop to eating his ‘assistant’s’ food, of course he’d make sure he had genuine permission. His formality often got on her nerves, but she also appreciated his sincerity.

“Of course,” she responded, “I can always find another on the way to the infirmary. Eat.”

The sound of the tray dragging along the desk reached her ears, and it retreated from the corner of her vision.

“Thank you, Agent.”

His voice was soft, and she could feel his gaze on her face. She answered without taking her eyes off her task, not looking for a touching moment with the man.

“It’s no trouble. I don’t get paid if you starve to death.”

Another tired, single-syllable laugh reached her ears.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Nieve didn’t know what reaction she had expected from her offhand comment, but she hadn’t anticipated him finding it amusing. Considering she had given up trying to get a laugh out of him, getting two in a row was practically a miracle.

A brief glance up revealed the tension seemed to fade from his face as he began to devour her lunch. Though she didn’t show it, she was glad. As much as he drove her mad, the Inquisition needed him at peak performance. It needed him healthy, and it needed him positive.

With that thought in her mind, Nieve reached the point where the numbers stopped making sense. She analysed the remaining calculations. It was a basic mix up – transposing two of the figures – but it meant that the final order was different from Millen’s estimate. If it hadn’t been caught, it would have meant there were not enough roofs over the heads of their new allies. She took the time to double check before drawing a line through the old request and writing the correct one below.

“Well, it’s an easy fix,” she stated, deciding to keep things positive.

“So there _was_ an error?” he asked after swallowing a mouthful.

“Well, yes, one anyone could have made” she replied, trying to keep her tone light. “As it stands, we can’t house the number the Herald is returning with. But, if we adjust things now, we’ll easily have everything ready by the time they arrive.”

The commander let out an open sigh of relief. Then followed with another, quieter one of disappointment. Nieve felt some sympathy – she hadn’t wanted him to be wrong either.

“Right. Perhaps anyone could have made it, but I… should have checked,” he said, pressing his hands to the desk and standing up. “I’d better get Millen the proper information and apologise… for my mistake.”

Nieve bit her lip as she considered a third option. This was not the time for him to self-doubt, or for anyone to doubt him. She had a job to do at the Inquisition. Though it was a far cry from saving his life, she could at least save the man some face.

Instead of handing the paper over, she took a deep breath, dipped her quill in the inkwell, and picked up a fresh piece of parchment. The commander watched her with concern as she began to hastily translate the information onto the new page.

“Agent?”

She didn’t reply immediately, continuing to replicate what was on the issued orders. When she reached the orders at the bottom, she skipped the crossed-out figures and wrote the correct ones instead. When she was finished, it appeared as if there had been no errors at all. She held it out to the commander, who was staring at her with a puzzled expression.

“A clerical error, Commander,” she said pointedly. “It seems _someone_ made a mistake when writing up Millen’s copy of your orders. Here’s the original.”

Instead of taking the parchment, the commander folded his arms, his mouth forming a tight line. Nieve barely stopped herself rolling her eyes. _Of course_ Ser Serious and Sensible took issue with the idea.

“Maker’s breath, I can’t say that,” he muttered. He fidgeted, lifting his hand to work the tension from his neck as he stared at the document in her hand.

“Commander.”

There was a firmness to her voice that made him look at her. She stayed in her seat, locking her blue-grey eyes on his as she spoke.

“Millen is popular among the troops, isn’t he? He’ll most likely understand, but people will listen if he decides to vent his frustrations with delays. Like you say, _anyone_ could have made a mistake, so wouldn’t you rather it was a copy error by some scribe, rather than the leader of the entire force?”

His jaw was clenched again – she could hear his teeth grind as he mulled it over. She punctuated her point by giving the paper the slightest of shakes, willing him to take it.

“Are you certain?” he asked, genuine concern in his voice.

“Of course, it’ll damage my lifelong goal of copying rosters and ink-staining all my clothes…” she replied with a sly grin before returning to a serious tone. “Look, I don’t care what he thinks of _my_ abilities, but he should trust in yours. I’m just some bumbling assistant you can’t get rid of, right?”

She beamed up at him to show him that she was joking, though she had chosen her words carefully. As much as she took pleasure in seeing the stuffy Templar make mistakes, she also wanted to show him she wasn’t useless. That, and with the mages arriving, the Templar contingent of the Inquisition needed to believe in their commander more than ever.

“Yes, err… quite.”

Though he was obviously trying to act in an appropriate manner, the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly, betraying his amusement as he took the parchment from her hand.

“I’ll get this to Millen,” he said, letting out a long sigh of relief, “and hopefully we’ll have somewhere for these mages to sleep by the time they arrive.”

“If we don’t,” she grinned, “at least they’re good at lighting campfires?”

He shook his head slowly and took a deep breath, the smallest of smiles on his lips. He tucked the missive under his arm and headed for the door. Before he left, he turned around and set his golden eyes on hers.

“Thank you, Agent,” he said softly, “perhaps I owe you one.”

A smile came unbidden to her lips. Not the false, mocking kind she used to prove her point, but one of genuine warmth. She dropped her gaze, taking a second to register the moment before she looked back up.

“It’s nothing, Commander” she replied, “though if you really want to… someone appears to have eaten my lunch.”

Her playful grin was answered not with the usual huff or eye roll, but instead with look of curiosity. He arched an eyebrow at her from the doorway, his gaze trailing down to the messy stack of documents now strewn across the desk.

“Fix your filing system, Agent,” he replied with a smirk. “Then we’ll talk.”

Nieve’s mouth fell open comically. She immediately snapped it closed, but her surprise had been noted, serving only to make the commander’s expression more confident. Nieve Thorne wasn’t one to pass up a challenge though, and was quick to fire back.

“Was that humour, Commander?” she teased. “Perhaps you did catch something from eating my food?”

With the quietest of snorts, he finally turned to leave.

“Maker preserve me,” Nieve heard him mutter as he stepped out of the tent.


	14. Chapter 14

Any tension that had been alleviated with the completion of the expansion returned the instant the shouts rang out. The Herald had returned, and was on his way into the valley.

They were just outside the Chantry when they heard, and Nieve’s eyes instantly snapped to the commander. For a few moments, there was a stillness to his face, as if he was carved from stone. It passed quickly, and he began to mobilise, barking orders at the nearby troops. They had taken every step to be ready for the mages’ arrival, and now they had to _look_ it.

When the soldiers dispersed, Nieve found herself waiting for orders. She wanted to rush to the gates, to watch the Herald and the mages as they approached. Her spyglass had been at her waist all day in anticipation of their arrival. It was surprising how much she had adapted to not only taking orders, but for the most part, _respecting_ them. Maybe she was a real member of the Inquisition after all.

Not that that stopped her being annoyed with the commander, of course. Nieve tapped impatiently at the leather of the pouch that held her spyglass, waiting to be released from…standing around. Leliana and Josephine approached, having given out their own orders, and the advisors shared quiet words between the three of them. It seemed as though this was where they intended to wait for the Herald and mage leader.

It was clear she was unneeded where she was, and yet the commander hadn’t bothered to dismiss her. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know she was standing a few feet behind him...

Pulling it out from the pouch at her waist, she fiddled with her spyglass, one of the few precious personal items she owned. It was of Dwarven make, able to be collapsed into itself to become more compact. Thorny vines had been etched into the brass, their barbed tendrils wrapping around the length of the cylinders. The smallest segment, hidden when the spyglass was collapsed, boasted the most detailed design - a delicately engraved rose.  
  
It had been a gift from Lodrik, and a good one at that. It was a functional tool for her line of work, but also had subtle personal touches. The engraving served to make it hers, without putting anything as obvious as her name or initials. When she had seen it, Nieve had begun to tease him for his terrible play on the Thorne family name, though came to a full halt when she had seen the petals. Usually she would have rolled her eyes at being given a trinket with a pretty flower, but the dwarf had clearly listened to her stories of Lothering, her family, and her mother’s blasted rose bush. Lodrik had included a note, which she hadn’t understood until she had seen the full design:

_Remember the past, and look to the future._

He nearly brought her to tears – the sentimental bastard. She remembered how her breath had caught at the sight of the rose, and though it wasn’t gilded, and nor did it sparkle, she treasured it as if it were the finest jewel. So much so that she often left it on her desk, opting to carry a less precious one on her person. She had brought it with her to Haven though. Not just as a tool, but for luck, and as a connection to her home, her family, and to her all too poetic friend.

On top of all of that, Nieve had discovered the incredibly satisfying noise her fingernails could make when tapping on the brass. She was currently using it to convey her impatience to anyone close enough to hear it, as she stared forlornly at the mountainside.

A frustrated sigh from the commander brought her attention back to the immediate area, and the eyes of all three advisors casting glances at her over their shoulders. Furthest from her, Lady Monilyet eyed her with interest. Leliana’s expression betrayed a hint of amusement, whereas the commander looked – unsurprisingly – irritated by the distraction. He opened his mouth and issued her with a simple, stern order.

“ _Go_ , Agent.”

It wasn’t the politest instruction she’d ever received, but Nieve decided she’d take it.

“Right away, Commander,” she replied cheerfully.

She shot him the biggest, most sickly sweet grin she could muster and began towards the gate. The commander took half a step towards her, halting her with a slight raise of his hand.

_You just_ had _to goad him._

Her stomach twisted at the thought of being reprimanded in front of Leliana. She stopped and looked up at him with gritted teeth. Thankfully, he bent his head down towards hers, so he could speak for her ears alone.

“Get a good look at them,” he all but whispered.

_Obviously._

Though it was technically an order, his tone lifted ever so slightly at the end, depriving his words of complete authority. Taking the quickest of moments to observe his expression, Nieve noted that in contrast to the hard line of his mouth, there was a softness in his eyes. Visually, it was a minor detail, but it revealed the true nature of his request. The tension in his brow was not the usual one of anger or frustration, but of uncertainty. And with that, his demanding words held a silent plea.

Nieve had only glimpsed that kind of vulnerability in her superior a couple of times since arriving at Haven. The commander was not one to mince words, but the truth he had let slip struck a chord inside her. In the span of a few seconds her defensive mockery evaporated, and her eyes softened to match his.

“Of course, Commander,” she all but whispered, holding his gaze with sincerity.

Everything stilled as they shared a moment of understanding. After a few heartbeats, he both acknowledged and dismissed her with a simple nod. She replied with an almost imperceptible one of her own before turning and making her way to the gate.

It was only when she was nearing the tavern did she realise the true milestone they had reached. The commander had not only voluntarily _asked_ her to help, but he asked her to do her job.

Not merely allowing her to be a messenger, scribe, or clerk –her _real_ job.

She ran her fingers over the engraved brass of her spyglass as she strode down the path, a slow smile spreading across her face.

_Lucky little trinket._

 

* * *

 

The gate turned out to be a poor choice, for the simple fact that everyone else in the Inquisition had the same idea. Nieve let out a frustrated growl as she considered other options. Now that she actually had a job to do, she wasn’t able to shrug off.

She huffed, placing her hand firmly on her hip as she scanned her surroundings for options. The lowest sections of Haven’s walls were already occupied look out spots, and she didn’t like her chances of squeezing into one of the watchtowers.

“You got held up too?”

Nieve spun around to see Elise leaning against one of the buildings, her shoulders hunched and her hands in her pockets.

“Just a bit,” she replied with a sigh. “Your Mister Perfect wasn’t in any rush to dismiss me.”

Elise rolled her eyes, her lips forming a delicate pout. As usual though, the scout couldn’t hold the expression under Nieve’s stare, and the hint of a smile began to develop.

“That’s _Ser_ Perfect,” she corrected. “And most women wouldn’t be complaining about being near him.”

“Most women don’t actually have to work with him,” Nieve retorted, though her words lacked any real venom.

As endearing as she found her friend’s attempts at humour, her eyes were already back to roving the snow-sprinkled buildings. She needed to find a vantage point if she was going to get a good look at the Herald’s company.

“Where’s that giant friend of yours? How about you hop on his shoulders?”

Nieve flicked her eyes back to Elise for just long enough to send her a deliberately forced smile.

“Torvin?” she replied. “I would, but as he’s still in an infirmary bed, it wouldn’t do much for the view.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Elise chirped. “There’s worse views to be had in bed than him.”

This time, Nieve didn’t need to force the withering look. Elise beamed at her in response. Aside from the banter, Nieve was getting nowhere, and threw her head back with a sigh. It was only that action that clued her in to the obvious solution to her problem – the roof.

“Oh sod it,” she grumbled, gesturing to the beams above them. “Give me a boost?”

Elise’s eyes went wide as she realised what Nieve intended to do.

“Are you sure?” she asked, already knowing the answer, and pushing herself off from the wall.

“Problem solving, Cavanan,” Nievesaid as she tapped her temple.

Elise took a moment to roll her eyes once more, but dutifully clasped her hands together to create a platform for Nieve’s foot. The two women seemed to take a deep breath in unison, and Nieve quickly judged the height of the beam she was aiming for. Resting a hand on Elise’s shoulder, she stepped into her friend’s interlocked fingers. Elise boosted her upwards, and Nieve hoisted herself onto the beam at the edge of the roof.

“Maker, you’re heavy,” Elise remarked as Nieve’s foot left her hands.

“Oh thanks a bunch,” she retorted, bracing her hand against the slanted roof and finding her way to her feet.

Thankfully, the snow had not been too heavy in recent days, and only a light layer covered the wood. She was careful nonetheless as she found her balance, scraping snow away with her boot. The best position would be upright and leaning against the roof, so she could keep steady while having both hands on her spyglass. She had been right – this was a good vantage point after all.

Elise watched her from below, her expression a cross between amusement and concern.

“If you slip, you’ll fall on your face in front of the Herald and all of his new friends…”

The scout’s voice held a mocking edge, and Nieve felt a sense of pride in cultivating that side of her friend.

“I’d better not slip then,” Nieve replied, looking down at her with a wink.

Her confidence was somewhat feigned, as Elise’s point held a certain amount of truth. The last thing she wanted was to embarrass herself, though a fall might reinforce her cover within the Inquisition. Falling from the side of a building in front of a large audience didn’t exactly scream ‘professional spy’.

Finding her way into the corner where two sections of the roof met, Nieve leant her back against the snow-covered wood. With her hands free, she pulled her spyglass from its pouch and extended it. She brought it up to her eye and fixed it on the road into Haven.

She didn’t have to wait long before getting a good view of the approaching party. The Herald led the column of travellers, riding alongside a dark-haired elf in mage robes. Though Nieve hadn’t seen her before, she matched the description of Grand Enchanter Fiona, who had initially made contact with the Herald in Val Royeaux.

The pair seemed to be on good terms, conversing as they rode. Sylahn was actively gesturing and pointing at things, most likely familiarising her with Haven and its surroundings. Just behind them rode the rest of the Herald’s travelling party, as well as one new face. Nieve trained her spyglass on the dark-haired, moustached stranger. He rode next to Seeker Pentaghast, and in front of Solas and Warden Blackwall. It was a position of prominence, leading Nieve to assume he could either be well trusted, or not trusted at all.

Either way, he wasn’t there by accident, and it showed in the way he carried himself. Unlike many mages, he looked comfortable on a horse, able to direct his mount while his attention was elsewhere. Not that he was speaking to anyone – the two men behind him were silent, and the Seeker regarded him with poorly concealed apprehension. Whether he noticed or not wasn’t clear – his attention was on the Herald.

Nieve couldn’t tell if he was Sylahn’s intended audience or not, but he seemed just as interested in what the Herald had to say as the Grand Enchanter was. Nieve’s curiosity was piqued, and she took a moment to memorise a few details. The most obvious thing about the man was that he was handsome, and not just in physical features. He held himself with a confidence that made Nieve want to roll her eyes. Professionally, she hated pretty people. They got away with too much and made things more complicated. It was clear as well that he was a mage, one of the many in the column with staves strapped to their backs.

It was an interesting thing to behold. Free mages openly wielding staves was something that had become more common without the threat of being dragged back to a Circle Tower. She moved her spyglass to follow the long column of people making their way along the road. They were mostly on foot, carrying everything from staves, to camping supplies, to personal belongings. There were a few packhorses dotted throughout, but for the most part they seemed to be carrying everything on their person.

Suddenly, and unexpectedly, Nieve was reminded of the days she had spent on the road, fleeing Lothering with precious few belongings – almost none of which she still possessed. Tightening her fingers around her spyglass, she held it steady as she began to focus on the faces of the mages as they trudged towards Haven. Their weary expressions struck a chord somewhere inside her – she had worn the same one herself a decade ago.

Though she had sheltered the mages, and supported their fight for freedom, Nieve was ashamed to realise that she hadn’t considered them to be refugees until this moment. At least, not in the same way that she had been. A new wave of questions flowed through her head. Were they going to want to stay in Haven after the Breach had been sealed? Did they expect the Inquisition to find them somewhere to stay? How much responsibility did the Inquisition have? How much authority?

She shook the thoughts from her head. It wasn’t for her to figure out. First, they needed to close the giant hole in the sky – a task she was determined to do her part in. Nieve refocused her attention on the newcomers, committing as much to memory as possible while they were all in plain sight. Though she was looking for threats, she doubted any of the weary travellers had the energy to act now, let alone in front of the entire Inquisition.

She settled for taking in all the notable details of the faces in front of her. Even if one could not describe someone they had only seen once in a crowd, they may at least recognise them as familiar – which sometimes was all it took to stay alive.

As they filed through the bridge gates, Nieve couldn’t help but focus her attention once again on the front of the group. With all the stress about the mages, Nieve had been somewhat dreading the return of the Herald. It was a selfish notion, as even though she wanted the Breach closed more than anything, she had a feeling of fear with the arrival of this many newcomers.

However, looking at the confident elf at the head of the party, she realised that she had in fact missed Sylahn. Though there were times that he made her feel uneasy, and overthink her every word, he brought an element of fun with him wherever he went – and Maker, Haven needed some fun.

With a quick sigh, she decided it was time to leave her prominent vantage point. The travellers were close enough now, and she would rather avoid being seen by every mage as they approached. She collapsed her spyglass and stashed it in its leather pouch before making her descent. She dropped lightly on the snow next to where Elise leaned against the wall.

“Well, that’s a lot of mages,” she commented, as if that was all she had observed.

“You don’t say,” the scout replied with more than a hint of sarcasm.

“Yeah, they have staves and everything,” Nieve quipped back, resting her back against the wood beside her friend.

Elise snorted in response, and the pair waited silently for the arrivals to make their way past. Two Inquisition agents, merely curious to see their new allies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry for the slow burn! I didn't mean for this chapter to get as long as it did - guess I just like describing things. I swear things will actually happen soon, thanks for sticking with me! As always, comments are welcome <3


	15. Chapter 15

“ _Time magic?_ ”

Nieve’s voice betrayed more than a hint of disbelief. Sylahn’s account of the events of Redcliffe was like something out of one of Varric’s stories.

He had brought her the bridge over the lake’s inlet – far enough from Haven not to be interrupted, but close enough to be summoned if needed. They leaned their elbows on the stone wall, overlooking the frozen lake.

“I _know_ ,” he replied with a roll of his eyes. “Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Only about as ridiculous as falling out of a hole in the sky, I suppose,” she mused, glancing at the swirling clouds above.

“I guess ridiculous things just happen to me,” he shrugged, sending her a lopsided grin.

Nieve met his eyes, willing her cheeks not the blush as she returned the smile. There was a calm easiness to conversation with Sylahn, interrupted every now and then by flashes of intensity that made her stomach twist.

He always held a gaze for a moment longer than was customary, which often led to Nieve either being entranced by the forest green of his eyes or looking away to avoid such a result. She couldn’t be sure if the elf had the same reaction to their eye contact as she did – he was a master at keeping his composure.

This time she retained her senses, choosing instead to focus on the ice below. It didn’t matter if she looked up or down – the sickly green hues of the Breach reflected off the lake as well.

“It _was_ ridiculous though,” he said quietly.

It was rare for his voice to be so devoid of humour. The plainness of his statement earned him a cautious glance from Nieve. For some reason, she felt as if she had to conceal her curiosity about the subject, afraid to ask him to elaborate. She had received a report and a brief explanation from the commander, but she had none of the details. It was in her nature to want every scrap of information, though she sensed Sylahn wouldn’t offer more than he was comfortable sharing. Even in the overview he’d just given her, everything he’d said was measured and factual, with a fair bit of humour thrown in.

“Oh?” she replied lamely, prompting him to continue.

He leaned forward, bracing his forearms against the stone. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes. Nieve wasn’t usually able to look at him for any length of time without him meeting her gaze, so she took the opportunity while his eyes were closed.

Her eyes trailed the lines of his vallaslin to the dark circles under his eyes. In this moment of stillness, without the brightness of his eyes or flash of his smile, nothing could hide the fatigue on his face.

“Everyone was just… gone,” he said softly, his eyes fluttering open.

“The Inquisition was gone. Everyone was imprisoned, tortured, dead….and it was all tied to this…”

Sylahn raised his left hand slightly from the stone, regarding it with a sigh before placing it back on the wall.

“…and that means it’s attached to me.”

Nieve leaned forward, copying the elf’s pose as she tried to decide how to respond to his words.

“You stopped it though,” she ventured, “we’re all still here. None of it came to pass.”

It was supposed to be comforting, but even as she said them, she didn’t feel her words achieved their purpose. The elf was silent for a few moments, pushing tiny rocks around with a gloved finger. She stole another glance at the Herald’s face and had never seen it so etched with worry.

“It _did_ happen though,” he replied, his eyes darting to hers for a brief moment before returning to his fingertips. “I saw it all. I saw my allies – my friends – sick with red lyrium. I saw what happens if we lose this fight… and everyone but Dorian has told me that it’s fine because we stopped it.”

Dorian. The Tevinter Magister. He had aided the Inquisition in Redcliffe, joined them afterwards, and was the only other person to see first hand what Sylahn had been through. Nieve didn’t know if he could be trusted, but it sounded like he had been at least good to Sylahn so far.

Guilt crept into her mind. She didn’t want to be in the same category as ‘everyone’. Though they had not spent the same amount of time together as he and his travelling companions, Nieve wanted to be someone Sylahn trusted.

_At least more than some random mage from Tevinter._

It was a petty voice that chimed in her head, but it was honest.

“Sylahn, I’m sorry,” she said softly, resisting the urge to reach out to him. “I think people are trying to take comfort from the fact that such a crisis was averted. The idea that all of that could be a real possibility is… terrifying.”

He nodded slowly in understanding.

“I know,” he admitted. “My feelings are… hard to explain. It’s more real to me than anything that happened at the conclave. I already had a huge – and very important – gap in my memory, and now I have memories of something that never happened…”

This time, Nieve didn’t resist. She reached over, placing a gloved hand on the elf’s forearm. With someone else, it may have been a simple gesture, but venturing into Sylahn’s personal space wasn’t something Nieve took lightly.

“It _did_ happen,” she said in what she hoped was a comforting tone. “It happened for you. But we can stop it from happening for everyone else.”

He glanced down at her hand with a wry smile. Nieve was about to withdraw from the gesture, fearing she’d overstepped her bounds, when he moved his other hand to join hers. He trailed his long fingers up and down her own, tracing patterns on the back of her glove as he’d been doing with the rocks on the wall.

“If we can close the Breach, all this will have been for something, “he continued, drawing no attention to their sudden closeness. “The mages seem confident that we can do it. But I—”

A flash of green light penetrated the stitching of his glove and a slight hiss escaped his lips. His arm tensed beneath her hand, and Nieve felt a tingling in her fingertips which made her hair stand on end.

“Sylahn?” she whispered, moving to take her hand from his afflicted limb.

Before she could do so, his fingers closed over hers, keeping them in place.

“It’s alright,” he answered with a tired smile.

They remained still, standing shoulder to shoulder, silent for some time. Nieve was hyperaware of their closeness, as if the Mark had ignited all the nerves in her hand. Though it was through several layers of leather and lambswool, the sincerity of their contact made it seem much closer.

“Are you in pain?” she asked.

“I think… it’s getting worse,” he sighed, going back to tracing his gloved finger over hers. “It should hopefully get easier once we close the Breach. But honestly? No one actually knows what will happen to the Mark.”

She wanted to throw her arms around him. She couldn’t imagine the weight of such a burden, let alone the uncertainty that came with it.

“The mages we’ve recruited are some of the most capable in all of Thedas,” she assured him. “You’re in good hands, Sylahn. And, for what it’s worth, the Inquisition is too.”

To her surprise, he let out a snort of laughter.

“Good hands?” he grinned at her, his eyes flicking pointedly down to his left hand. “…Really?”

Her eyes went wide when she realised how poor her choice of words had been. It had seemed to lighten the mood though.

“Hush,” she smiled, pushing her shoulder lightly against his, “you know what I mean.”

“Of course, you mean to compliment me on my incredibly fine pair of hands,” he joked, stretching them out in front of him and wiggling his fingers.

“Very nice,” she rolled her eyes, not sure whether to be upset or relieved their contact had been broken. “Is there more? Or are you finished making me feel bad?”

The twinkle had returned to his eye as he smirked back at her.

“Never.”

They returned to their previous positions of leaning on the wall, minus the comfort of each other’s touch. They remained that way for some time, speaking of lighter subjects. Nieve listened to the deep tones of the elf’s voice as he told her of his adventures in the Hinterlands, and she in turn spoke of her much less eventful time in Haven. The conversation came easily, and Nieve felt a sense of disappointment when the elf sighed and straightened, indicating their time together was over for the day.

“It’s time to head back,” he said as he stretched.

Nieve did the same, stifling a groan as she did so. She had lost track of the time they had spent leaning on the wall, but her joints hadn’t, protesting the sudden call to action. Once they were both ready to depart, Sylahn offered his arm to her.

“May I escort you to the village?” he asked formally, his eyes shining with humour.

Nieve laughed and rolled her eyes but accepted the gesture all the same.

“Why, how gallant,” she replied, her voice dripping sarcasm as she turned to look at the village below. “However would I find my way back without you?”

“Luckily for you, gallantry is one of my many virtues,” he grinned as he began to lead her towards Haven. “You shall not go missing this day!”

She laughed again, softer this time. Once again acutely aware of her physical contact with the handsome elf, Nieve felt a sense of uncertainty. What would people think, seeing her returning on his arm?

She banished the thought immediately. The Herald was known for being eccentric, as well as flirtatious, so most likely people wouldn’t bat an eyelid. Or, at least that’s what she told herself.

“It would be most unchivalrous,” he continued, “to return to Haven without you, having no explanation for your fretful commander as to why you became lost in the wilderness.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at his attempts at formality. His impression of an uptight nobleman had nearly brought her to tears in the past.

“Why thank you, good Ser,” she grinned as they trudged through the snow, “though I hardly think fretful is the word for the commander. I’d be surprised if he even noticed my absence.”

Sylahn turned his head towards her, so that his lips were right next to her ear.

“Then he is a fool.”

He spoke in that low, rich tone of his that never failed to send a shiver through her. This time was no different. Nieve swallowed hard and kept her gaze on the road in front of her. Sylahn, if he noticed her reaction, said nothing.

As they rounded the bend, ‘the fool’ in question came into view. He was in conversation with the blacksmith and wasn’t looking their way. Nieve felt the sudden urge to pull her arm away from the Herald’s.

_Why? What does it matter what the commander thinks? Why should I act differently because of him?_

She resisted, careful that she neither dropped the elf’s arm nor gripped it any tighter. The last thing she wanted was for Sylahn to think she was anything but nonchalant about the situation. In the back of her mind she grumbled about how silly the whole thing was.

Her superior looked up as they approached.

“Ah, Thorne,” he began, “there’s some reports from the Storm Coast that ‘d like—”

His eye’s widened slightly as he noticed who she was with, and the way they were walking.

“—Herald, my apologies…”

The commander paused, clearly unsure of how to continue. Naturally, it only took a second for Sylahn to speak up.

“Greetings Commander! I found your assistant wandering in the wilderness,” he grinned, still retaining a hint of his pompous impression. “Terrible sense of direction, this one. Never fear, I’ll deliver her to her desk before she winds up in Val Royeaux.”

Nieve snorted at the elf’s chatter and met the commander’s eyes with a shrug.

“I’ll get to them right away, Commander,” she assured her confused superior.

A small smile graced the corners of his mouth. Whether he was amused by the Herald or grateful for her practical reply, Nieve couldn’t decide. He bid them farewell with a nod and the pair continued towards the village gate.

Sylahn was true to his word and walked with her to the command tent. He released her arm and turned to face her.

“Right, now back to work with you,” he said with a smile, lightly brushing off her shoulders as if to remove fallen snowflakes.

Nieve found the gesture endearing, knowing that it hadn’t snowed that day. Their closeness on the bridge had been new territory for them, and it was obvious that the Herald, like herself, didn’t quite know how they should end their encounter for the day. She thought of him being unsure gave her an unexpected bit of confidence.

“You too,” she replied, looking up into his eyes. “Don’t you have a Breach to close?”

He looked back at her, holding her gaze as he always did – but this time she didn’t look away. After a long moment, he let out a soft chuckle.

There was no cheap comment, or words of any kind. He reached out his hand, touching a gloved finger beneath her chin for the briefest of moments. He gave her a lopsided smile before he turned and headed toward the Chantry.

The surprise of the affectionate gesture had frozen Nieve in place. It was only once the Herald was out of sight that she fled inside, taking sanctuary in the simplicity and predictability of her work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking SO LONG to update! I've had a crazy stressful few months but I've always been trying to work on this. Hope you like it, comments always welcome <3 (there might be mistakes, I can't look at this chapter any longer to edit it tbh ^-^')


	16. Chapter 16

“You’re taking pity on me, aren’t you, lass?”

Torvin’s gruff voice was barely more than a whisper as he cast a glance around the unfamiliar command tent.

“By taking you through your exercises in here, rather than out in the cold? Or surrounded by the sick and infirm?” Nieve replied in a teasing tone. “I’m not that cruel to you, am I?”

The warrior gave the slightest of shrugs as he returned the grin. His health had improved immensely since their first meeting, helped along in no small part by the influx of magical assistance for the healers. He no longer needed constant care and had moved out of the infirmary, but he still required some work to get back to full strength. Due to their fast friendship, Mother Giselle had tasked Nieve with keeping an eye on his recovery.

He was looking better too, as Elise had dutifully pointed out on a number of occasions. His bedraggled mop of red hair had now been cut and neatly tied back from his face, and his unkempt beard had been cropped to sit tidily over his jaw. Nieve had been shocked the first time she had seen him outside the infirmary. Standing at his impressive full height, the sunlight glinting off his bright blue eyes and illuminating the bright flame of his hair – she discovered her friend was _quite_ handsome.

Not that she had any intention of letting looks distract her, of course. Not with him, nor with any other attractive men in the Inquisition. While her intimate moments with Sylahn seemed to indicate otherwise, his tale of the events of Redcliffe had only strengthened her resolve to help the Inquisition. The future he had described was no future at all, and she was determined to help close the Breach.

And so, she had Torvin sit on her usual stool in the command tent, ready to work on his recovery. She had taken all precautions necessary – not that she thought he was a spy – by turning over or covering any important documents on the shelves. She had cleared the desk of everything, save for her medical kit and a meal she had put aside for the commander’s lunch.  He was in a meeting with the Inquisition’s leaders, and no doubt would be too eager to action any decisions made and wouldn’t eat for hours.

Usually she would have had a standing patient, but with Torvin it would have meant she would need the stool herself in order to match his height. She gestured for him to raise his left arm, and he dutifully obeyed. Placing one hand on his shoulder blade and grasping his wrist with the other, she slowly brought his arm back to test its range of movement.

“Any pain?” she asked.

He shook his head. The man’s body was more or less healed, with the exception of a little strength and flexibility. Nieve worked methodically through all the stretches and tests for this limbs, gauging improvement and vulnerability.

Torvin was the perfect patient, diligently following her instructions and answering her questions. The tone was light, and they managed to weave jokes and gossip into the conversation throughout the treatment. Torvin had just been regaling her with a story of a hilariously awkward moment between two of the recruits – earning a burst of laughter from Nieve’s lips – when the tent flap opened, and the commander strode in.

“Thorne, I’m going to need you to—”

He froze in the doorway, his eyes locked on the pair in front of him.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Nieve had paused when her superior entered, one hand on Torvin’s waist, the other on his shoulder, struggling to suppress her laughter from the story he’d been telling. It didn’t exactly look … professional. She immediately removed her hands from her patient and attempted to wipe the mirth from her face.

“We were just running through some recovery exercises, Commander,” she replied. “Did you need me for something?”

Despite her explanation, the commander still seemed uncomfortable. It may have a been a trick of the light, but Nieve thought his face had turned a shade redder than usual.

_Maker, we can’t have looked_ that _intimate._

“The town’s not on fire, but it is a timely matter,” he admitted, looking everywhere except Nieve’s face.

 “Well we’re nearly done, if it can wait five minutes,” she said, calculating the amount of exercises left.

The commander’s eyebrows raised slightly, and from the corner of her eye she saw Torvin turn to look at her. It took her a second to realise that she had effectively just dismissed her own superior, and then she froze on the spot. Eyes wide, she managed not to clap a hand over her mouth, though that would have been more than appropriate.

“—or uh, we could do that now and Torvin and I could finish up later?” she offered, sending the commander an apologetic look.

To her surprise – and relief – a flicker of amusement came to his features.

“It can wait,” he replied, a smile settling into the corners of his mouth.

Nieve breathed a sigh of relief as the commander paced around the other side of the desk. It seemed it was a good mood day – those were rare. His eyes flicked to the tidy desk and around the room, noting her efforts to maintain confidentiality. He gave her the slightest nod of acknowledgement before turning to her patient.

“How goes the recovery, Torvin?”

The warrior stared blankly up at him for a moment, then shrugged. The commander wasn’t his favourite person, and Nieve half expected him to not speak to the man at all.

“This one knows more than I do,” he said finally, jerking his head towards Nieve. “I just know where it feels tender, and she tells me what the problem is.”

Nieve grinned at him. As much as he liked to play the put-upon patient, they really had become fast friends.

The commander nodded as he sunk into his chair. Nieve had hoped he would have found something else to do while they finished up, but he seemed intent on staying in the tent. He had previously expressed an interest in seeing her work first hand, so it wasn’t a complete surprise.

“You keeping an eye on me, Commander?” she joked, attempting to fill the silence that had descended upon them.

“Just making sure you know what you’re doing,” he quipped back, the faintest smile on his lips.

Oh yes, he was a funny man now.   
  
Nieve had started to wonder if he rolled his eyes and silenced nine of her jokes just so he could surprise her by retorting on the tenth. It did seem to depend on the day. Just when she was sure he was warming to her, he’d say or do something that shot that notion out of the sky. Though she appreciated to overall improvement in their working relationship, she wished she could understand what was going on in that stubborn head of his.

“Twist and hold,” she instructed as she stepped behind Torvin, guiding his shoulders as he rotated his torso. He groaned slightly at the effort. It seemed the core was still a sore point.

“Easy, hold it there… don’t push it too far,” she said gently before turning back to the commander.   
  
“I was supposed to do this for a living, you know,” she reminded him.

The commander opened his mouth to reply, but Torvin cut in.

“What happened?” he grumbled. “Did they all just decide to stay sick?”

Nieve rolled her eyes at the barb, looking him in his mischievous blue eyes with a deliberately forced laugh. She heard the commander snort in the background. Torvin looked all too pleased with himself as he completed the stretch. As he turned to face forward, she decided to give the warrior a stern flick on the back of his ear.

“Yow!” he exclaimed, his hand flying up to cover it.

“Still lots of feeling in there – good,” she stated plainly, as if it were any other test in their schedule.

Her patient grunted in response, and Nieve stole a glance at the commander, who was watching them with interest.

“If you must know, it’s a very straight forward story,” she explained. “Death, Blight, burning destruction of my home town… not to be ‘too Fereldan’ or anything.”

Her tone was jovial, and it earned a chuckle from Torvin, but she had added the last part more for the benefit of the other man in the room. She shot her superior a timid smile, hoping he remembered their first real conversation as well as she did. He said nothing, but he met her eyes and the corner of his mouth twitched in response. It was something.

_Thank the Maker for common ground._

“I didn’t get a chance to learn everything,” she continued, “certainly not enough to be considered a healer… but I know a bit more than most.”

She took up a position directly behind Torvin and began to work her fingers into the muscle of his shoulder. He had been having trouble with it of late, and it needed some more direct attention.

“We won’t be too much longer, Commander,” she said, “but there’s enough time for you to eat your lunch, if you’d like.”

She gestured towards the plate on the desk with a jerk of her chin, both hands on her patient. The commander looked down at the meal as if he had only just noticed it was there. He brought his gaze back up to her, regarding her with an expression she couldn’t quite place.

“You… brought me my lunch…?” he said slowly.

His tone was half statement, half question, and all disbelief. His face was tense, and his golden eyes rested on hers as he worked through his confusion. The moment seemed to stretch on forever, and Nieve began to wonder if she had been too presumptuous. She decided to laugh it off.

“You never can seem to manage it yourself,” she shrugged, “and we can’t have our commander wasting away, can we Torvin?”

Nieve knew that the commander’s health wasn’t high on Torvin’s list of worries, but she wanted to keep the mood light. What she had intended to be a useful and efficient gesture seemed to be becoming far too much of a ‘moment’.

“Right you are, lass,” the warrior replied gruffly, before turning to their superior. “There’s worse things in life than having your meals delivered by a pretty girl, Commander.”

Nieve froze. She couldn’t help but notice that the commander did too. Torvin was stirring the pot, and he knew it. Nieve knew letting him and Elise drink together was a bad idea. The whole ‘Nieve and the commander’ joke didn’t need to reach the man himself.

_You were meant to make the conversation less awkward, you dolt!_

“Anyway, there it is, Commander,” Nieve said lamely, digging her fingers into Torvin’s shoulder a little harder than was necessary.

A muted hiss from her patient told her that she had found the source of the tension precisely at that moment. Her grip relented slightly, and she massaged the area in slow circles, careful not to put too much pressure on the injury. Again.

Torvin’s problem had been his inability to sleep without causing pain to some injury or other, causing him to settle into unnatural positions or forgo sleeping altogether.

“Are you taking the herbs I gave you?” she asked gently.

“No, I gave that up,” he sighed. “It got me to sleep well enough, but the dreams weren’t worth it.”

She nodded knowingly as she worked, although he couldn’t see. The lotus infusion she had given him was among the best for a painless slumber, but some patients paid for it with nightmares, often too close to reality to easily shake off.

“I know what you mean,” she replied softly, “I took it for an injury a couple of years ago and Maker, the dreams were vivid… Only take it if you need it. If you do decide to, I can try altering the recipe. Or explain to you how I knew when it was just a dream.”

The back of Torvin’s head dipped up and down as he nodded. Turning his head slightly to the side – but not enough to disturb her work – he replied over his shoulder.

“I’ll take any suggestions you have. But, what does a lass like you dream about?”

Nieve let out a sigh. She’d never been one to discuss her nightmares – or admit she had them even without the medicine’s assistance. Even Lodrik had heard only the most basic version of events and that was because they shared a place in Denerim.

“Oh the usual,” she shrugged once again. “Death, Blight, burning destruction…”

She forced a laugh, trying to make it sound as genuine as possible. She trained her eyes on her task, though it was more reliant on touch than sight. This time she avoided looking at the commander, who had begun to tuck into his lunch.

Torvin nodded knowingly.

“I hear that’s a common one,” he said gently. “Some of the lads in the barracks deal with it and all.”

She smiled softly at him, regardless of the fact that he was facing the other way. Torvin was gruff, and he grumbled, but there was a kindness to him that she saw between it all. Nieve hadn’t needed him to console her, but she appreciated it all the same.

“Unoriginal – that’s me,” she joked. “No imagination here!”

The warrior snorted in response. A quietness once again fell upon the room as she worked. It wasn’t a true silence, with the commander eating and Torvin’s noises of pain and relief. It only lasted a few minutes before Nieve came to the end of the treatment.

“Right, that’s that done,” she announced, patting Torvin lightly on the shoulder. “Feel better?”

He stood up with a groan, stretching his arms out to the side.

 “It does, actually,” he replied, rolling his shoulder to dispel any stiffness.

“Don’t be so surprised,” she muttered, feigning a pout as he turned to face her.

He grinned down at her, towering over her now that he was upright. It made it very easy for him to place his hand on the top of her head.

“Thanks, Thorne,” he said simply, giving her hair the slightest ruffle.

She moved to slap his hand away, but he was already headed for the entrance of the tent. He was at the opening in a couple of strides of his long legs. She called after him, determined to have the last word.

“And remember to do your damned exercises!”

He sighed but didn’t give her a reply. Instead he turned to face his superior, who was still sitting silently at his desk, propped up on one elbow.

“Commander,” Torvin nodded in acknowledgement.

“Torvin.”

The commander returned the gesture before resting his chin back on his fist. Nieve expected that to be the end of their interaction, but it seemed the redhead wasn’t done.

“Hey Commander, some advice?”

The commander responded with a questioning eyebrow. Torvin jerked his thumb towards Nieve as he replied.

“Don’t get injured.”

“Hey!”

She tried to think up a clever retort to follow her exclamation, but her friend was already out the door. She glanced at the commander to see him trying to suppress a grin.

_They made up. Wonderful._

“Good to see you making friends,” he said as if reading her mind, still trying to wipe the traces of amusement from his face.

“You too, Commander,” she quipped back. “Now if we’re done making fun of me…?”

He let out a small chuckle and pushed himself up from the table. Nieve noticed that he had completely devoured everything on the plate she had brought him.

“Right, of course,” he said as he headed for the tent flap. “With me, Agent.”

Nieve was unsure if she preferred being made fun of to being ignored, but the commander’s good moods were nothing to take for granted. She decided that she’d enjoy it while it lasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone who commented on previous chapters! Honestly they make my world go round and are the best motivation for writing <3


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of fun, don't judge me too harshly XD

Nieve and the commander traipsed their way up the path to one of the supply storehouses. Everything that wasn’t needed in day to day operations was kept separate from the village, protected by fortification and a constant guard presence. In the interest of security, not even the commander could enter the storehouse alone.

Shivering in the crisp mountain air, Nieve drew her arms across her body in an attempt to retain as much of her body heat as possible. Her wool-lined leather jacket was Inquisition issued, and much warmer than any of the clothing she had brought with her from Denerim. She was relieved to find that it fitted her well, and she didn’t have to sacrifice her shape for the sake of warmth. She told herself it wasn’t vanity. Having form-fitting clothing in her line of work, well… it helped.

She couldn’t say she had the same feeling towards the standard issue cowl. The commander had insisted that she don at least some of the Inquisition uniform, but the pale green colours were not Nieve’s idea of attractive. At best, it reminded her of the misty sea off the coast of Denerim. At worst – the Breach, reflected in snow.

She had rolled her eyes in the beginning, being contrary because she was annoyed with her superior that day. She joked that it washed her skin out, or that with the red in her hair she looked like a festive decoration, and what did the colours have to do with the Chantry anyway? It didn’t represent the Divine, the Seekers, or even the Inquisition’s own emblem.

“They’re neutral colours, Agent,” the commander had replied. “This isn’t an Orlesian court. You’re not here to look good.”

“But I do anyway,” she had winked back at him, knowing full well the colours worked for scout’s camouflage. 

His resulting subject change and sudden fixation on the letter he was writing had sustained her for days – Nieve just _loved_ getting under his skin.

She pulled the soft green material up over her mouth, so no one saw her grinning at the memory. It was out of habit and didn’t matter that there was no one else around. She hadn’t made the pompous templar blush in a while, save for when he thought he’d walked in on her and Torvin earlier in the day.

He isn’t in a bitter mood, she though as they neared the storehouse. Maybe I can take him down a peg.

The Commander greeted the two men tasked with guarding the narrow, sloping path up to the building. Nieve followed a few steps behind, pushing the cowl back down below her chin and shooting them a soft smile. She recognised the two men as they spoke to the commander, though she couldn’t recall their names.

“Inspection?” one of the guards asked, before adding, “another one?”

His companion looked similarly confused, until his eyes fell upon Nieve. He nudged the other guard’s ribs with his elbow, and with a quick glance around, something unspoken passed between the two men.

“I mean, of course, Commander!” the first guard announced, gesturing for them to proceed. “She’s all yours, err… so to speak.”

The commander shot the pair a hard stare, but didn’t voice his obvious confusion with their behaviour before he turned away. As Nieve fell in step behind him, she noticed the guards’ expressions return to what was supposed to be neutrality. Neither one of them met her eye, and their faces held a tension that could only mean they were hiding something. Her instincts caused her to tense up immediately, but a twitch in the corner of the second guard’s mouth went upwards. They were trying not to laugh.

Nieve rolled her eyes as she continued up the slope. Guard duty had to be one of the dullest jobs there was – at least the guards were entertaining each other with whatever inside joke they had. She heard them whisper to each other over her shoulder.

“Wait, isn’t Lockwood…?” one of them asked.

“Yup,” replied the other.

A low whistle was the response, and they fell silent once again.

The storehouse was a small yet robust building, built to withstand the mountain conditions in a way that many of the Inquisition’s other structures weren’t. Outside of the existing buildings in the village, they operated mostly out of tents where they could – temporary measures until they could close the Breach for good. Supplies were too precious to be protected by canvas alone, especially in the harsh isolation of the Frostback Mountains.

As she stepped out of the cold, Nieve was faced with a table, chair and shelf by the door, with the rest of the room filled with crates and sacks. The commander took a writing board and parchment from the table as they walked in and handed it back to Nieve.

“Write down what I tell you to,” he instructed, also fetching her an inkwell and quill.

Nieve nodded. Scribe work was easy, especially when the commander spoke simply. He wasn’t one to ramble. There were a few lanterns lit inside, allowing enough light for Nieve to write without a candle. As the commander lit a lantern for himself, a light thump sounded from somewhere among the supplies, too loud to be the wind.

Nieve and the commander both froze for an instant, and with a quick glance at each other, slowly slid their hands towards the weapons at their waists. Nieve placed the writing board gently back on the table table top. She wasn’t one to draw steel at shadows, but having her instincts validated by the commander’s told her to at least be ready. After a couple of heartbeats, the silence was broken again by a soft rustling, too loud to be a nug.

“Who’s there?” the commander called into the gloom.

Nieve’s grip tightened on her knife as a tall, dark-haired man stepped out from behind a stack of crates. He was in Inquisition garb, with a sheepish look plastered across his youthful features.

“Lockwood?” the commander asked. “What are you doing in here?”

The commander’s grip was still tight on the hilt of his sword, but Nieve wasn’t sure if he had the space to draw it. Making a quick assessment of their surroundings, she also noted that the soldier’s only way out was the one directly behind her. Her knife was a housed in leather and made no sound as she eased it from its sheath.

“It’s alright, Commander,” the young man raised his palms. “I’m not here for the supplies.”

_Funny that, as they’re literally the only thing in here…_

“Then why in Andraste’s name are you in the storehouse?” the commander replied in an even tone.

_Lockwood. The guards said his name..._

“I heard that name outside,” she murmured. “The guards must know he’s here.”

“ _Do_ they now?” he growled back at her.

It was obvious that he was losing his battle with a level tone as the tension stretched between the three, two of them with their fingers on steel.

“Well err…” the soldier floundered.

Nieve could see the thought process on his face, clearly thinking of the best excuse he could come up with for his current situation. Nieve couldn’t deny being curious to hear which one he finally landed on. Her shoulders relaxed somewhat – this kid didn’t seem like much of a threat. She felt safe with a knife in her hand, and she was ready in case it was all an act.

“Answer me, soldier!”

It seemed that her superior had _not_ lost any tension he was carrying. He looked about ready to lunge at the lad when another voice came from behind the crates.

“Maker’s breath…”

The voice was soft, exasperated, and most notably: female.

In an instant, Nieve added up all the elements in her head – including the smirks of the guards – and came to the obvious conclusion. Her expression had changed from narrow-eyed suspicion to round mouthed realisation, before finally her face mimicked that of the guards outside. By the time the owner of the voice emerged, Nieve was desperately trying to hold back a laugh.

As the second figure stepped out from hiding, Nieve had the presence of mind to focus her attention on the commander instead. And Maker, was she glad she did. His face was priceless. He had been stock still since the woman spoke, and looked to be a stunned statue in the lamplight. Nieve didn’t think his eyes could have widened any more, but he proved her wrong.

“Name?” he finally managed.

“Farrence, Commander,” she replied, her eyes roving the area around his boots.

She was a petite woman, dressed in the garb of a scout. At a glance, Nieve might have taken her for Elise, but her blonde hair was slightly too short, eyes slightly too dark, and her face was dotted with freckles. She was the opposite of Lockwood in practically every way, making them quite a striking looking couple, in Nieve’s opinion.

Lockwood wasn’t looking the commander in the eye either – his eyes were on his companion’s face. A silence descended upon the room as they braced themselves for the commander’s next words.

“The guards let you both in?” he inquired, once again in an even tone.

Nieve glanced at him, surprised by his calmness, but his eyes were putting on all the pressure and intensity his voice lacked. The couple appeared to shrink under his gaze.

“Yes, Commander,” Lockwood replied hastily. “But it was my fault really, I—”

“—That’s enough,” the commander cut him off.

The solider fell silent, casting the quickest of glances at the scout by his side. She was looking back at him, concern etched on her features. Nieve couldn’t tell whether her worry was for herself or for him, but something told her it was the latter.

“Get out of here,” the commander growled. “You’re both to report to me in the command tent in an hour.”

There was no argument. The pair mumbled their way through their ‘yes sirs’ and made their way towards the door. Nieve flattened herself against the table to let them past. Neither of the acknowledged her as they did so, but she wasn’t offended. Both of them had a red tinge to their complexion, indicating that it was more out of embarrassment than disrespect.

Lockwood opened the door for them, guiding Farrence through with a light touch on the small of her back. It stayed there as he followed her out, and before the door swung shut, Nieve saw him bend down to speak in her ear. She couldn’t hear the words, but his tone was gentle and caring.

Something about it brought a smile to Nieve’s face. Not the sudden burst of mirth she had been holding back moments before, but a soft smile of genuine warmth. There was a hint of nostalgia too, as she couldn’t help but remember the days of her youth, sneaking away from her responsibilities to spend time with a boy back in Lothering. They had been caught, too.

As quickly as the images bubbled to the surface, she pushed them back down. Those memories were of no use to her now – she would drown them forever if she could.

A heavy sigh from the commander brought her back to the present, followed by a barely audible ‘Maker’s breath’.

“Try not to be too hard on them, Commander,” she said softly. “They’re in love.”

A sound of frustration came from the man’s throat. He wasn’t pleased.

“That’s neither here nor there, Agent,” he sighed once again, dumping his lantern onto the table with a thump.

Of course, they had been down this road before, and her superior was less than comfortable dealing with personal issues bleeding into professional ones.

_Have a heart, you joyless lump._

“So you don’t think love has a place in the Inquisition?” she asked, the slightest mocking tone in her voice.

While she was partially joking, she was genuinely curious to hear his opinion on the matter. He had never mentioned romance – past, present, or potential. In truth, Nieve didn’t know whether the commander had any interest in it at all.

“I think it has no place in key strategic locations,” he replied shortly.

She couldn’t imagine a more ‘Commander Rutherford’ answer. It was something she might have said if she was impersonating him at the tavern. Nieve mentally bet fifty coppers that no one could come up with a more hilariously accurate statement than that. She might have burst out laughing had the man not spoken again.

“Love isn’t going to close the Breach, Agent.”

And just like that, he had risen to her challenge, she was half a silver out of pocket. Nieve clenched her teeth to keep the laughter in, so hard her jaw hurt.

_Well there it is, the quote for his tombstone…_

But, to her complete surprise, he continued. His voice softened as he spoke.

“That all said, the idea that people can find happiness in a time such as this is… encouraging.”

She peered at him, her head tilted and eyes wide in her best ‘well, well, well’ expression. Maybe the commander was a romantic after all? He met her eyes for a second before looking away, his hand working tension from his neck.

“They’re still in deep trouble,” he stated. “The guards too.”

Despite their heart-warming reasons, the couple had still been found among valuable resources without permission. If it hadn’t been for their obvious and genuine affection for each other, Nieve would have been hesitant to let them go out of suspicion.

“We need to tighten up troop discipline,” the commander mused. “The guards knew the circumstances, but they still allowed people to penetrate our security measures.”

_Don’t laugh at his use of the word penetrate._

“It didn’t seem to bother the guards at all when we showed up,” Nieve commented, her face as straight as she could make it. “Those two mightn’t be the only couple they’ve let in…”

The behaviour of the guards painted a clear picture that they knew what was going on. With the nudging and joking, they hadn’t seemed too concerned for their own skins when their superior officer had shown up, despite knowing they would be found out.

“If that’s the case, they should be worried, _not_ giggling like children,” he growled, his frustration once again getting the better of him.

He was right, she thought. Something was off. The guard hadn’t tried to delay or divert her and the commander when they arrived. Instead, he had practically hurried them along. ‘She’s all yours’, he had said, adding a cheeky ‘so to speak’ for the sake of his comrade. Whatever that meant…

_…Wait._

“You’d think they’d be more concerned with getting caught,” the commander grumbled. “They know what kind of operation I run, and I won’t tolerate this.”

But Nieve had already made the connection, and it equally amused and horrified her.

“Commander?” she started, unsure of how to break it to him. “I think they… I think they might not think you’re here for an inspection…”

“What do you mean?” he replied, locking his eyes on hers.

“Well, if this is the kind of thing that’s happening in here… then maybe they thought their commander might want to, err… well… use the same service…”

She trailed off, not wanting to delve into using any specific terms. The commander was an up-front kind of man, but not when it came to this. She watched the realisation dawn on his face. It was as if time slowed right down, leaving him with all but frozen in a state of shock. She didn’t know whether to laugh or to run and hide.

When time returned and her superior reanimated, he made up for it twofold. For a second he looked angry, then disbelieving, then worried, then angry again. His mouth opened and closed without a sound as his face cycled through expressions. When the words finally came out, they were just as erratic.

“They think that… I am?... That I would…?” he stuttered, his face reddening with each word.

Nieve gave an exaggerated nod, waiting for him to formulate a complete sentence. It didn’t happen immediately, but she didn’t mind. She so enjoyed seeing him struggle.

“Maker… they think that I’m here to… _with you?_ ”

There was a strong emphasis on the final two words, as if he had only just realised that Nieve was the other side of the equation.

“How is that the most surprising part?” she snorted, folding her arms in mock offense. “You could do a lot worse, in my opinion!”

He stared at her blankly for a moment before turning away. She couldn’t help but smile as he did so. The situation was so ridiculous that she could only laugh. Also, there was something about watching the commander go through a little harmless suffering, and this time, she hadn’t needed to do a thing.

He let out another heavy sigh as he leant his back against the wall.

“Do you think… do they think we’re doing it right now?” he asked, sounding defeated.

“Probably,” she shrugged.

She didn’t care. Rumours about them were almost definitely circulating anyway, due to their close working relationship. Then again, rumours were probably circulating about her and the Herald, too. That’s just how people in large groups worked.

The commander pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose, dipping his head so all Nieve could see was a crown of blond curls.

“Best course of action?” he asked from behind his hand.

Nieve though for a moment, mostly about how nice it was to be consulted. The commander was out of his element, which meant she was in hers.

“Just do what we came here to do and deal with the other shit later,” she said frankly. “We can always ask the Iron Bull to throw those guards into the Breach tomorrow?”

The commander didn’t laugh, but he seemed to relax a little. Nieve really didn’t want this kind of thing to get to him for long. It was fun for a few minutes, but the Inquisition needed him in working order. She suppressed a sigh.

“Once they find out that you showed up and shut it all down, they’ll all realise that rumours are just rumours.”

Her tone was reassuring, even if it was a complete lie. Rumours and gossip always found a way to survive in one form or another, especially when regarding figures of interest or authority. Not that she was going to say that to the commander.

“Right,” he said, pushing off from the wall and retrieving the lantern.

“Right,” Nieve echoed, accepting the end of the conversation.

Though they had moved on from the situation, the commander continued to avoid her eye. They completed their task efficiently, with Nieve diligently recording everything she was told to.

They were preparing for the worst-case scenario, working on putting together supply caches in the event that Haven needed to be evacuated. When they attempt to close the Breach, there was always the chance that something could go wrong – from another explosion to releasing an army of demons, who knew what could happen. With so much at stake and yet so much unknown, the leaders had decided that an evacuation plan wouldn’t be the worst idea.

For the sake of morale, they had decided to do this quietly, which is why Nieve was present instead of one of the commander’s regular soldiers. If word spread that they were planning for the worst, then people might start doubting the Inquisition’s chances, and in a way, that was a harder battle to fight. But it never hurt to be prepared.

After inspecting Nieve’s handiwork, the Commander rolled up the parchment and handed it back to her.

“I’ll need you to deliver this to Leliana,” he instructed. “And like we said, this is strictly confidential.”

“Got it.”

She tucked the document into her jacket and returned the writing tools to the table. The commander did the same with his lantern, and once the room was the way they had found it, they headed for the door.

The commander seemed keen to leave, but he paused with his hand on the door. Nieve could practically see his thoughts through the gloom. Once they left the storehouse, he would have to deal with everything that had transpired since they arrived. With a deep breath, he wrenched the door open.

She followed him out, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the afternoon sun. He made sure that the door latched shut behind her and turned to face the path down the hill.

“So, Commander,” she quipped as they began their descent. “Was it good for you, too?”

All she got in response was a gruff noise from the back of his throat. Whether it was irritation or amusement, she couldn’t tell. Nieve chucked to herself regardless, interested to see how this whole situation would play out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the awkwardness that was this chapter! Might be a little OOC but I was erring on the side of comedy and I had fun writing it ;) (Also it always surprised me in Inquisition how they escaped Haven at a moment's notice with literally so much stuff, so I wrote it into my story, albeit briefly and somewhat clumsily)


	18. Chapter 18

Their descent back down to Haven was an uncomfortable one. The commander was in no mood to chat, and Nieve didn’t blame him. Despite the fact that the unfortunate circumstances were hilarious, the situation they had uncovered was still a glaring breach of the Inquisition’s security.

As soon as the pair of guards saw their superior approaching, they made an effort to look busy. Or at least, be busy looking… elsewhere. Once they noticed that the commander was headed directly for them and not back down the hill, they snapped to attention. Following a couple of paces behind, Nieve could see the exact moment they realised, in unison, that their boss hadn’t known what had been going on in the storehouse. She almost felt sorry for them, but they had been naïve to think they wouldn’t be found out.

I’d give them five minutes in Denerim, she thought as they visibly paled under their superior’s scrutiny.

Once the guards had been thoroughly dressed down and had a date with the commander in his tent after their shift, Nieve continued towards the village. The time for joking had passed, and she was uncharacteristically quiet as she walked by the commander’s side down the winding path.

He was already a tall, powerfully built man, but the fury that radiated from him gave him a presence greater than his physical size. The air around him seemed to crackle with tension, causing Nieve to jump when he finally spoke. It came out as a bark of an order, though it was a simple question.

“How do we deal with this—” he noticed her reaction and began again in a gentler tone.

“Sorry, how should we deal with any… rumours?”

Nieve cast a glance his way, hoping to get a quick read on whatever look he was giving her before responding. She needed have bothered with subtlety – the commander had his eyes trained on the snow in front of his feet. His brow was furrowed – even more than usual – and the shadow across his cheeks betrayed a clenched jaw. Nieve often shrugged the commander off as a cold and unfeeling figure and was surprised that he seemed to care about the idea of negative rumours.

He wanted people to respect him.  
  
This realisation was swiftly followed by another more striking one. Something inside her shifted when she looked at his grim expression – she also wanted people to respect him. Having seen the work he put in first-hand, the effort no one else saw, Nieve didn’t want him to feel insecure about his leadership.

He was a driven man, and not the type to dwell on frivolous matters. He had shown no hesitation when dealing with the troops over a security issue, but rumours that could damage his reputation were clearly something he needed advice on. Nieve thought he must have dealt with this before in his previous leadership roles, but now he seemed oddly shaken. Perhaps it was as he had said before, that things were different in the Inquisition. They were an eclectic, ragtag mob, far removed from the sworn loyalty of his Chantry brothers and sisters.

Nieve, on the other hand, was used to it by now, but she didn’t know how to tell the commander that rumours about them already existed. An overheard comment here, a direct jibe there – she’d been shrugging off whispers since she arrived. Elise, and more recently Torvin, has joked about it in good fun, but Nieve knew there were more sinister intentions in the rumour mill. There were loyal troops who resented her being appointed out of nowhere, and women who were against her for entirely different reasons.

Nieve was used to it, and decided that Commander Cullen Rutherford wasn’t the worst of her rumoured lovers. Her eyes had just drifted to the snowflakes caught his tousled curls, fluttering in the mountain breeze, when he turned his head towards her. Their eyes met for the briefest moment before she diverted her attention elsewhere, embarrassed at her line of thought.

“All we can do is go about our business, Commander,” she replied with a sigh. “As I said, sooner or later something more interesting will crop up. People will cling to anything that distracts them from the big hole in the sky.”

“You’re right,” he replied gruffly, still not enjoying the subject.

Nieve decided to drop it, filing away any possible jokes in her mind for later. She would have other opportunities. Whether appropriate or not, Nieve stored fragments of humour like it was ammunition – you never knew when a good, quick line would come in handy. Not that she wasn’t good at thinking on the spot, of course, but she liked to be prepared.

Aside from the crunching of the snow underfoot, the pair approached Haven in silence. Nieve couldn’t think of a subject to rival what they had just witnessed, and her companion wasn’t leaping at the opportunity to chat. Perhaps he was reluctant to seem too familiar with her and fuel any rumours. He gave stiff greetings to those who hailed him, clearly anxious about having any eyes on them as they passed idle members of the Inquisition.

Nieve’s chest thumped slightly at the sight of Sylahn among a cluster of soldiers, his expression radiating joy as he laughed with some of the troops. But it was only a couple of beats before her heart plunged down into her stomach.

Standing in close proximity to Sylahn stood a blonde elven woman in a fit of giggles at whatever joke they had shared. Nieve’s eyes snapped to the woman’s hand, resting daintily on the Herald’s forearm as she attempted to recover from her mirth. She didn’t remove it after the laughter died down, continuing their contact as they spoke. Nieve couldn’t hear what words passed between them, but whatever they were, they were friendly.

The Herald’s companion was not only stunningly pretty, but seemed totally comfortable in ‘the bubble’ – the nearness to Sylahn that made Nieve’s brain turn to mush. She looked up int his eyes as she listened attentively, something Nieve was never able to manage. Her heart dropped just a little further when she noticed how little the Herald seemed to mind the attention.

Letting out a heavy sigh, she forced herself to tear her eyes away. Her gaze darted about, from the buildings to the path ahead to the green-tinged sky, trying to find a new subject to focus on. She even glanced at the commander, though she immediately wished she hadn’t.

He was watching her carefully, a curious expression on his face. Apparently, her heavily exhaled breath hadn’t been a subtle reaction and had garnered his attention. Nieve knew it was folly to hope that he hadn’t noticed the cause of it – he wasn’t born yesterday. She was grateful that he held on to any greetings he may have had for the Herald. She had no way of knowing if this was for her benefit or not, but either way they passed the group of troops without incident. If Sylahn noticed them, he said nothing, and Nieve was too focused on her boots to check.

“So, you and Lavellan aren’t…” the commander began as soon as they were out of earshot, though he seemed to abandon the question before it was finished.

“We’re just friends,” she replied simply, the firmness in her voice inviting no discussion.

_I think, anyway._

“Of course,” he replied, accepting the dismissal.

Whether the commander believed her or not was a different matter. He had seen her on the Herald’s arm, witnessed his flirtations, and now seen Nieve’s reaction to his new companion. She kicked herself for being so obvious and drawing the commander’s attention, but in her surprise, she had forgotten he was there.

_But why should I be surprised?_

The Herald was a man like any other, and widely known for being a flirt. She would have to be a fool to think that reputation was for nothing. Besides, she’d had enough experience with men like that to know better than to get attached.

She suppressed a groan of frustration – she was in Haven to help the Inquisition close the Breach. When that was done, it couldn’t be long before they’d all go back to where they came from anyway. With the mages working on ways to make it happen, they might be leaving Haven quite soon indeed. As far as Nieve knew, the Herald’s party only had one more trip to the Hinterlands planned while the mages made their preparations.

Nieve felt, rather than saw, the commander’s gaze upon her. He had clearly taken in her every change in expression, and she cursed him for deviating from his usual oblivious ways. Why had he picked now to decide to pay her any attention? Refusing to dignify his interest with any kind of acknowledgement, she lifted her chin to focus on the path ahead rather than directly under her feet.

_Wow, way to show him, Thorne. He’ll drop everything now you’re doing that…_

The comment came to her head with Lod’s voice, causing Nieve to suppress a wry grin. She didn’t know if the change in focus made her seem more bothered, or less, but it wasn’t long before they reached the point where their paths diverged.

“Well, good luck with the love birds,” she said as they parted ways.

Her joke lacked the humour she had intended, but still earned a pained smile from her superior. She patted the side of her jacket, which concealed the document for Leliana, to indicate that she remembered her task.

The commander nodded, and they went their separate ways.

 

* * *

 

“It’s alright, I hate her too.”

Nieve glanced at Elise, who was leaning on the tavern wall beside her, due to the fact they hadn’t been early enough for a seat. She followed her friend’s gaze across the room to one of the luckier groups of soldiers sat around their table. A group of soldiers, and one rather pretty elf. They looked to be enjoying themselves, the men’s jokes earning cascades of laughter from the young woman. Even her laugh was pretty.

“I don’t hate her,” Nieve replied. “I don’t even know her.”

Her statement was half true – she _didn’t_ know her. She’d only first laid eyes on her a couple of days ago.

“Sure thing,” Elise snorted. “I believe you.”

Her voice dripped with sarcasm, which Nieve greatly appreciated. The elf had appeared in Haven recently, most likely with the mages, and had made quite an impression on the troops. She had been working in the kitchens, and therefore Nieve had had very little to do with her besides glaring in her general direction. Nieve couldn’t help but wonder if this was the way people felt towards her?

“Well _I_ hate her, I’m not afraid to say,” Elise continued. “And if you think it’s because she’s a skinnier, prettier, elfier version of me, then, well – you’re right.”

Nieve snorted into her ale, At least she could trust Elise to speak her mind, even if it was in a huff. The scout was so frank with her opinions that Nieve had to pay attention not to follow her friend’s lead. She definitely had some opinions of her own, but couldn’t afford to voice them in the same way Elise did.

“Oh, no way…” Elise groaned.

Nieve looked up, immediately spotting the source of her friend’s dejection. Commander Rutherford had entered the tavern and taken a seat at the table of soldiers. One of the men slid a tankard across the table, which was gratefully accepted. Nieve knew it had been a long day for him. It wasn’t long before the elf exchanged greetings with him. Nieve couldn’t tell if they had met before or not, but the commander’s manner was a friendly one.

“Easy, Cavanan,” Nieve teased. “Glare at her any harder and she’ll feel it in the morning.”

Elise let out a humourless snort.

“Probably a feeling she’s used to,” she grumbled.

The comment, combined with the ale she had drunk, caused Nieve to burst out laughing.

“What’s that meant to mean?” she giggled.

“Oh, I don’t know, really,” Elise flapped her hand in dismissal. “Let’s talk about something else.”

And so Nieve began to tell her stories of escaping her lessons in the Chantry back in Lothering, as they had promised to compare notes on the subject a few nights before. They slowly drained their tankards, and as Elise told her about a handsome templar that encouraged her to attend her lessons more often in her youth, Nieve realised that her friend may, in fact, have a type. It was possible that Elise’s attraction to the commander might not be entirely on his own merits. That said, when Elise told her of the stable boy who convinced her to dodge her lessons again, Nieve reconsidered. Perhaps Elise wasn’t picky after all.

While her friend was talking, Nieve’s eyes wandered about the room. She had a habit of keeping a constant watch on her surroundings, but in this case her eyes kept finding their way back to the table of soldiers, the commander, and his new elven friend.

She is actually _quite_ beautiful, Nieve thought as she noticed many other pairs of eyes trained on the woman.

She couldn’t blame them, really. As the other woman spoke, whatever tale she was telling was punctuated with gestures and expressions that held their attention. No doubt they all hoped they had her attention as well. Nieve noticed the way she would hold eye contact with each member of her audience, giving them each a moment where she was speaking just to them.

Eye contact was a powerful thing. Nieve thought about the intensity of Sylahn’s gaze as a prime example, and then immediately kicked herself for doing so. They hadn’t spoken before he left for the Hinterlands, so she had no concept of where she stood with him. Last week’s news, perhaps, as the elf hadn’t bothered with a farewell. But then again, why should he?

An eruption of laughter from the table brought her out of her moment of reflection and indicated that the elf had reached the punchline of her story. Despite the success of the joke, she didn’t seem too triumphant, sitting back and playing with her curls, a shy smile on her face. It seemed at odds with the confidence in which she had told the tale, Nieve thought bitterly.

Nieve glanced at the commander, who was grinning into his ale like the rest of them, and felt a stab of jealousy. It had taken her the longest time to coax even a twitch of mirth from the commander’s lips, and this newcomer had done it at once.

It’s not like it’s my job to make him laugh, she reminded herself with a sigh.

“You’re not listening, are you?” Elise’s voice cut through her daze.

“Sorry,” Nieve admitted, shaking the thoughts from her head. “What were you saying?”

“That men are a distraction,” Elise said pointedly, flicking her eyes to where Nieve’s had just been resting.

“You think I was distracted by the commander?” Nieve laughed, disbelief in her voice.

“Of course not,” Elise said drily. “You’re always on about how he’s not worth being distracted by.”

“Well of course,” Nieve shrugged, masking her discomfort by taking another swig of ale.

“ _Always_ on about it, Nieve.”

The scout gave her a long, lingering stare before bursting into laughter.

“Keep your secrets, Thorne,” Elise joked. “One day I’ll get you to agree that I’m right about him.”

“That grumpy plank?” Nieve replied with a smirk. “There’s not enough ale in this tavern for that.”

“Is that you ordering another round then?” Elise grinning, shaking her empty tankard in Nieve’s direction.

With a put-upon sigh, Nieve took it and headed for the bar, casting no more glances at the table across the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was really two mini-chapters squished together. It seemed silly to have them on their own.


	19. Chapter 19

They sat in the command tent in complete silence, save for the scratching of their quills against parchment. The commander had dismissed the troop her was working with for lunch, and had taken the opportunity to look over the plans for peace-keeping in the Hinterlands.

It had been several days since the incident in the storehouse, and though whispers circulated around Haven, Nieve and the commander had managed to shake off any awkwardness. Well, at least while they were in private. Nieve still detected a tension in the commander when they were out in public. She didn’t blame him for creating distance between them and was grateful that tension wasn’t out of character for him. She doubted anyone else noticed.

They had settled into a comfortable work pattern, with Nieve only interrupting him to slide the more important documents across the desk. Those that didn’t require his immediate attention were stacked neatly in their own pile. They barely needed to speak to one another, which most days suited Nieve just fine.

However, at this point in time she was wrestling with the other side of her job with the Inquisition. Leliana had hired her to keep an eye on the commander, and so far, she had come across very little to threaten him. Grappling doubts about her own ability, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was missing things, or if there really wasn’t anything major going on.

_There’s always something going on._

She stifled a sigh. There was one thing that stuck out to her – there was something off about that elf. Everything she had observed in the last few days had set off warning bells in her head. But how could she bring it up the commander without sounding petty? And what of Leliana? Her old friend was the spymaster of the entire Inquisition… could she really bother her with no evidence, or even an accusation? Nieve wanted to be worthy of Leliana’s trust and confidence, but wasn’t sure that ‘I don’t like the commander’s new friend’ was enough to be taken seriously. She had been biding her time, waiting for something more to go on, but nothing had cropped up.

Nieve forced herself to choose: drop it, or talk to the commander. One option was undesirable, as talking to the commander wasn’t her strong suit, but she also knew that she would never be able to drop it. She closed her eyes for a long moment, steeling herself for a conversation she didn’t want to have.

“Commander, I need to mention something,” she began, her eyes fixed on the wood of the desk. “It’s about my… other job.”

“With Mother Giselle?” he replied without looking up from his task.

_Maker, this is going to be harder than I thought._

“With Leliana.”

The commander took a breath, placed his quill down on the desk, and gave her his full attention.

Well, no turning back now, she thought. Under the weight of his stare, Nieve’s gaze remained trained on the desk.

“It’s about that elven woman who has been hanging around with you and the troops,” she said.

“Alysiana?” he asked, as if there was any doubt.

She nodded, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. _Of course_ they were on a first name basis. She’s just that damned friendly.

“Yes, her,” she continued. “It’s just that I feel that there’s something not quite right about her, you know?”

A silence hung in the air between them, and Nieve chanced a look at his face. The commander fixed her with one of his famous hard stares, his golden eyes boring into hers.

“No, Agent,” he replied simply. “I don’t know.”

Nieve could already sense that this conversation wasn’t going to go well at all, but she couldn’t back out now that she had started.

“She’s just… a little too confident. A little too measured. It’s just that something about her makes me suspicious.”

The commander leaned forward, bracing himself on his elbows.

“Is there something suspicious about a kitchenhand enjoying the company of the troops?” he asked, a slight edge in his voice.

“She’s too comfortable, Commander. For someone that feigns being so shy, it just seems a bit calculated. She seems to have gotten mighty close to some key figures in a very short time.”

“It seems to me she speaks to _everyone_ ,” he replied, his eyes narrowing.

Nieve knew he didn’t want to be having this conversation. Neither did she, but at least she was trying to get through it.

“Look, Commander, I know you get on with her… but it’s my job to notice when things aren’t right. It’s why I’m here, and I’m telling you – there is something off about her. She isn’t a wise person to trust.”

There it was. Nieve had laid it all out for him. They bother knew that she wasn’t just his assistant, and either he could take her at her instincts and professional opinion… or not. Looking at the hard line of his mouth and the intensity of his stare, her chances didn’t look good. Thankfully, the powerful stare wasn’t levelled at her, but she did feel a pang of sympathy for the patch of canvas on the side of the tent. It looked like he might burn through and give the command tent a new window in the moments of silence before he spoke.

“Agent, don’t think I don’t know what this is about.”

“Noticing potential threats to the safety of you and others?” she quipped, her frustrated tone gaining her his direct attention.

She raised an eyebrow in annoyance. The commander raised two in reply.

“How long have you had these suspicions?” he asked in an even tone.

“Pretty much the whole time,” she replied honestly.

“And these ‘key figures’ that she’s too comfortable with,” he sighed, “that includes the Herald, does it not?”

_Andraste’s ass, that’s not what this is about!_

“Yes, but that’s not—”

“I saw your reaction to them the other day, Thorne,” he said sternly. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you and Cavanan at the tavern either.”

Nieve let out a muted groan of frustration. The commander sure picked a fine time to stop being dense – his attempts at being perceptive weren’t making her job any easier.

“It’s not like that, Commander,” she repeated, trying to keep the exasperation from her voice. “I can see, I can _sense_ when someone might have something up their sleeve, and this girl just sets off all of those warning bells in my head…”

She had started off strong, but in her head, Nieve was already starting to doubt her own words. This wasn’t about Sylahn, was it?

“Thorne, we both know why you’re here. That said, I don’t tolerate anyone under my command using their position for personal gain.”

Nieve gasped at the boldness of the commander’s accusation. She opened her mouth to reply, but he was already continuing.

“I can understand jealousy, Agent, believe me, but unfounded accusations are neither fair nor helpful. Do you have any concrete reason to believe that I should be suspicious of Alysiana?”

_Jealousy?!_

She would shoot down the notion immediately if it didn’t land so close to the truth. How could she convince him that she was serious, when she so obviously felt threatened by the other woman? On the other hand, she was hurt and annoyed that the commander thought so little of her as to immediately assume she was jealous. What did he know about how she was feeling?

“No, Commander,” she admitted. “All I have is my senses and years of experience dealing with this kind of thing.”

“And you’ve never been wrong?”

_Maker’s balls, I get it!_

“It’s up to you what you do with my judgment and my advice, Commander,” she said icily, not answering his question. “I understand that you’re defensive of your new friend – all I’m saying is that I’m suspicious.”

He bristled at her dismissive tone. Nieve didn’t care. He could think that she was a jealous, vindictive harpy if he wanted – maybe she was.

“I’ll take that into consideration,” he replied with equal coldness as he picked up his quill and returned to his work.

Nieve knew he wouldn’t.

“And thank you for finally voicing your concern over Alysiana. I had wondered when it might come up.”

Nieve froze, floored by the venom in the commander’s voice. She didn’t know if she’d ever heard him sound quite so nasty. The lack of professionalism he perceived in her must have really touched a nerve. That said, she’d been actually unprofessional before and he had never gotten this snarky.

She really didn’t care why he was so tetchy. Perhaps Sera put bees in his britches again, perhaps a recruit had stood an inch too far to the right or some other unforgivable deed. She’d given up trying to figure it out.

Maker, she wished she could tell him what she really thought of him. He could have her marched out of Haven for dissent – not that it would matter, as they would all be heading home soon anyway. She kicked herself for thinking that they were on their way to getting along.

She settled for sending the commander a glare while she knew he wasn’t looking, picking up her quill, and returning to the task in front of her.

_Because Maker forbid, I actually try to do my real job._

 

* * *

 

 

Both Nieve and the commander had returned to their previous activities, as if the conversation about the elf had never happened. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other, but the weight of the silence lay heavy on Nieve’s mind.

Insulted and ignored, her inner voice fumed, can my day get any worse?

After ten or so minutes of being furious, Nieve finally admitted to herself that she could see where the commander was coming from. She could have been subtler in her observation of the situation. Elise’s inability to conceal anything certainly didn’t help. Not that it was her friend’s fault, Nieve knew she would have to be more careful not to slip into similar behaviours.

She just hadn’t considered such a reaction from her superior.

She stole a glance at the man across the desk. Without raising her head, she flicked her gaze over the hunch in his shoulders and the tightness of his grip on the quill. His knuckles were practically white as he etched away at the parchment. It seemed he was as tense as she was. Not wanting to be caught looking, she returned her attention to the missive in front of her.

But it wasn’t long before curiosity distracted her again, and she glanced up to assess his expression.

It wasn’t what she had expected. Instead of looking furious, like she had assumed, the commander looked exhausted. The tension in his face was more of a grimace of effort rather than a frown. To top it off, the lamplight within the tent revealed a sheen of sweat on the commander’s forehead.

“Commander, are you alright?”

He looked up, his eyes seeming to take a moment to focus on her face. He blinked hard and rubbed his forehead with the back of his white-knuckled hand.

“I’m fine, Agent,” he replied unconvincingly.

“You’re not,” she replied sternly.

“It’s just a headache.”

_And I’m the Empress of Orlais._

“You’re sweating,” she replied, getting out of her seat. “All due respect, Commander, but you look terrible. Did you eat anything odd?”

Before he could have any say in the matter, Nieve had her hand against his forehead. She didn’t flinch at feeling the sweat which coated his skin, but it took just a moment to feel how hot it was.

“I’m alright, Agent,” he repeated, brushing her hand away.

He wasn’t rough, but rather lazy, as if he were wiping a strand of hair from his face.

“You’re not well,” she told him. “You should lie down. I’ll get you some water.”

She moved towards the drawers against one of the canvas walls. There was a ceramic pitcher on top, as well as a few wooden cups.

“That’s… not water,” the commander sighed.

Nieve raised an eyebrow as she lifted the vessel o her nose a took a deep sniff.

“Wine?” she asked in genuine surprise.

“Can’t sleep sometimes,” he mumbled. “It helps a little…”

She shrugged and returned the pitcher to the top of the dresser. She then turned back to her superior, who was definitely looking worse for wear.

“Really, Commander, you should lie down for a while.”

“It’s the middle of the day,” he muttered in response. “There’s reports and supply requests, training the troops…”

Nieve, now in full infirmary mode, huffed audibly at his excuses.

“Commander,” she said sternly. “You are not well Lie down for an hour or so and see how you feel. I can head to the herbalist and fetch you some remedies to help with your symptoms, but you clearly need rest.”

“But the—”

“Do you think you’re the only one in Haven who can run drills? Delegate that to one of your officers. I can direct non-urgent reports to come back later this afternoon.”

“Well I…” he attempted, but gave up on whatever it was.

She was being as firm with him as she would be with any patient. It was bold of her, seeing as not only was he her superior, but they had just been in an argument.

“Are you sure?” he asked, sincerity in his eyes.

“Of course,” she replied, dropping assertiveness for gentleness. “I can pass the orders along, if you’d like.”

“That would be…good,” he said quietly.

He heaved himself out of his chair, wobbling slightly as he straightened. Nieve was immediately at his elbow, ready to steady him without putting her hands on him. He managed a half smile down at her before making his way to the back of the tent – to the curtain that separated his bed from the rest of the command centre.

Nieve made sure that he made it there before making her own move. Picking up the quill she had been using, she made some final adjustments to the page she had been working on.

“I’ll get this to the ambassador, then I’ll find you some herbs,” she said. “I think elfroot-infused tea will do just the trick.”

The commander, now comfortable and horizontal, muttered something that at least sounded like a ‘thank you’. Nieve made for the door. It was only once she was outside and away from her patient that she let out a deep sigh, wondering once again if her day could get any worse.

The answer, as usual, came in Lod’s voice.

_You just had to ask, didn’t you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead :D Been unwell though. Hoping my creativity has somewhat revived.

**Author's Note:**

> So I decided to try something different. I have no idea how this fic will be received. WIP but most of it has been planned out. Any comments would be appreciated :)


End file.
